


Someone Else's Sky

by Punchdrunkdoc



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Humour, Movie fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punchdrunkdoc/pseuds/Punchdrunkdoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen, the Starling City Vigilante, moves out of his family home into a small apartment.<br/>But he has an unexpected roommate.<br/>A 'Just Like Heaven' AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a different (very different!) take on how Oliver and Felicity might have met during season 1. It's based on the movie  
> Just Like Heaven, but you don't need to be familiar with that film to enjoy this (in fact, it might be better if you're not - more surprises that way!).

“Felicity?”

Felicity quickly raised her head and plucked the pen from her mouth, hoping she hadn’t left behind any ink stains. The man standing in her office doorway was tall, but he didn’t have the confidence to pull it off – hence the slouch to his shoulders. That, in addition to his deep voice, had saddled him with the unfortunate nickname of ‘Lurch’.

Not that anyone called him that to his face. He was the boss after all - well, the supervisor of her supervisor. And he was pretty decent, as far as bosses went. 

“Yes, Mr. Eckleton?” she replied, brightly. She’d discovered over the past year the exact balance of polite and peppy that kept Lurch at bay. If you were too sullen, he’d start worrying you were depressed (and apparently ‘ _depressed workers were not productive workers’_ ), which would lead to lots of chats and check-ins. If you were too happy, he tended to mistake that for flirtation, which also led to lots of chats and check-ins. 

And Felicity preferred to work alone, and uninterrupted. 

“Be here promptly tomorrow morning. Walter Steele is sending someone to you for a consult.”

“Oh, okay,” she replied, a little taken aback. 

Lurch obviously sensed her confusion, so he gave her a small smile and an explanation. “He asked me for the best, most reliable IT person we had, and I gave him your name.”

“Um, thank you.” 

Felicity knew she was the best, she was just a little surprised her supervisors realised it too. And a little worried. With recognition, came promotion. And with that, came more recognition. 

And she liked her anonymity. 

“It’s true, Felicity. You are the best here, and you’re far too qualified for the work you’re doing. I think if you impress Walter’s friend, it would do wonders for your career. There’s an opening coming up in Applied Scie-”

“Thank you, Mr Eckleton,” she interrupted. “But I’m happy with my job and I’m not looking to move up the ladder.”

He frowned at her, obviously wondering how she could be happy crawling around on the floor fixing wires and rebooting clueless executive’s computers all day, every day. 

And sometimes… she wondered that too. 

This was not the career path she’d envisaged when she’d set off for MIT. She’d had ambition, back then. Goals and five-year plans and aspirations. She was going to change the world. 

But that was all BC – Before Cooper. 

Before she’d fallen in love. Before she’d fallen into Hacktivism. Before she’d created a virus so dangerous it had led to her boyfriend’s incarceration and death. 

After her graduation, she’d declined the prestigious job invitations from NASA and Homeland Security. Instead, she’d applied for an entry-level IT position at Queen Consolidated, on the other side of the country from Boston. 

And here she was, a year later, still in the same position. 

She’d tried to convince herself that it was safer this way. That her genius was too dangerous to be let loose with unlimited funding and support. That she couldn’t trust herself not to create something destructive again. 

But the truth was…this was her penance. Her self-imposed punishment. Cooper took the blame for their hack, and then he took his life. 

She didn’t deserve anything more than this. 

_* * * *_

_What’s your objective?_

Each name in his father’s notebook was a mission. Each mission had an objective. All he had to do was determine the specific aims needed to achieve that objective, carry them out, and the mission was completed. Another name could be crossed off the list. 

Another name. Another mission. 

Another act of penance on behalf of his family. 

_What’s your objective?_

It was easy to focus on the mission when he was isolated in the dark foundry in the Glades. When his world was nothing but the burn of his muscles as he trained, the _thwick_ of an arrow as he practised…

But the world beyond his sanctuary pulled his focus. His mother, his sister, Walter, Tommy, even Diggle the bodyguard. They all had expectations of him, of the way he should behave, of what he should be doing with his life. The façade he’d created to appease them was wearing thin. And the effort to maintain it was a distraction he couldn’t afford. 

_What’s your objective?_

The question anchored him. Helped him block out all of the noise, and concentrate on the task at hand. 

_What’s your objective?_

Sometimes the words were spoken with Slade’s Australian twang. Sometimes it was whispered in Shado’s soft dulcet tones. Presently, it was Amanda Waller’s cool, dispassionate voice:

_What’s your objective?_

His objective was to find Floyd Lawton - AKA Deadshot - and kill him.

_What are your aims?_

Access the data on the damaged laptop. Use it to determine Lawton’s next target. Intercept, then eliminate. 

Time for step one. 

Oliver rechecked the name and office number on the note bearing Walter’s neat script, then tucked it back in his pocket. 

_Felicity Smoak,_ _IT Department,_ _Level 3, room 20_

_Felicity. Felicity. Fe-lic-ity._

Oliver silently repeated the name as he walked through the halls of the IT department. The syllables of the pretty name danced over his tongue, momentarily blocking out Amanda’s tactical refrain. Then he shook his head at the fanciful distraction and forced his features into his ‘Ollie the playboy’ mask. 

With his frown smoothed out, his eyebrows raised and a cocky grin in place, he stepped through the open door of office ‘20’. The colourful walls of the small room glowed and the collection of knick-knacks on the cluttered desk reflected the bright afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows. The office seemed completely appropriate for a person named Felicity, and the thought turned his arrogant grin into a sincere smile.

“Felicity Smoak?” 

The bald, sweaty head that popped out from beneath the desk at his call, definitely did _not_ suit the name Felicity.

“Do I look like Felicity Smoak?” the mouth attached to the bald head sneered. 

“No,” Oliver replied, his frown firmly back in place. “But I was told by Walter Steele that this was her office. Is she here today?”

“No,” grunted the bald man. “I’m filling in for her – which would be fine if this place didn’t look like a Disney princess threw up on it.” The latter was said under his breath as he heaved himself to his feet. He straightened his tie, met Oliver’s eyes and attempted a more professional greeting. “I’m Brian Scott, what can I do for you?”

Oliver hesitated. Walter had assured him that Miss Smoak was a tech genius and, more importantly, was loyal and discreet. Characteristics he needed when handing over an assassin’s bullet ridden laptop in his guise as innocent, harmless Oliver Queen. 

He didn’t know this Brian guy. And he wasn’t getting a trustworthy vibe from him. “Nothing, Brian. Sorry to interrupt. Do you know when Miss Smoak will be back?”

“Last minute vacation, or something like that. I don’t really know the details – I just go where they send me.”

“Okay. Well, thanks anyway,” Oliver replied, wincing internally at his overly jovial response. He needed to learn to tone it down a bit. Ollie Queen had never been that polite – especially to the underlings working for his family’s company. 

As he retraced his steps through the maze-like corridors of the IT department, and out the into the lobby of the building, Oliver stopped worrying about the validity of his ‘Ollie’ persona and started worrying about his mission. 

His aims and objective. 

The laptop was a bust. So he needed to figure out Lawton’s target the old-fashioned way – reconnaissance and interrogation. 

_Who needed IT girls anyway._


	2. Chapter 2

_Five weeks later…_

Oliver dropped his suitcase on the floor of his new apartment and closed the door behind him. Then he took his first deep breath in what felt like weeks. His eyes closed on the exhale and his shoulders slumped in relief. 

And then the guilt hit him.

He loved his family - and he’d missed them every single day that he’d been away. But he couldn’t stay in Queen Mansion any longer. It was just too…claustrophobic. Which was an odd word to describe a house with a dozen bathrooms, but that was how he’d felt. 

Confined. Trapped. 

Not so much by the space he was in, but by the people he shared it with.

They expected him to be…normal. To be the Ollie they remembered – carefree, careless, and happy. Always with a smile and a ready laugh. 

And he’d tried. He’d tried to be that person again. Both to reassure his family, and in an attempt to hide his true nature – and the reason he was back in Starling. 

But he couldn’t keep it up forever. 

It wasn’t just the issue of coming and going at all hours of the day and night and having to explain every one of his absences. 

It was the middle of the night, when his dreams turned to horror and his shouts echoed through the hall for all to hear. It was the early morning interactions, when he was tired and vulnerable from the interrupted sleep. It was the flashbacks, sparked by nothing and everything…

His façade would slip, and they’d see the trauma lurking just beneath the surface. They’d see that his experiences had indeed changed him – and not for the better. Then the pitying looks would emerge. 

And the questions would start. 

_What happened to you? What did you go through? How did you survive?_

He knew their curiosity came from a place of compassion. Of love. Of a need to help him heal. But the answers had to remain secrets. For his sake, and for theirs.

The hurt he was causing with his distance and refusal to talk was slowly driving a wedge through his family.

So he’d decided to move out.

In truth, the decision seemed to have been made for him, in some sort of act of divine intervention. He’d emerged from the foundry one morning last week, squinting in the early morning sun after a night spent locked away in the relative darkness of his base. After securing the gate, he’d turned towards his bike and had been smacked in the face by a flyer advertising a small apartment that was available for sublet. 

It had felt like a sign. 

Especially, as his reluctance to face his family grew with each completed objective. With each newly crossed off name on his father’s list – his body count increased. 

He’d long since come to terms with killing. And he was fortified by the knowledge that what he was doing what was right. That the end was justified. But the means…the means were messy. He had a lot of blood on his hands. And having to face his mother and his innocent baby sister after a night of cold-blooded murder… 

It was weighing him down. The lying, the act of pretending…it was all wearing on him. He needed some solitude. Which he couldn’t even find at the Foundry now that Diggle knew his secret and was helping him. 

So he’d immediately called the number at the bottom of the flyer and arranged a brief tour. The apartment was small – just one bedroom – but he didn’t need anything fancy. It was furnished, which solved the hassle of having to buy his own stuff, and it was a short ride from the foundry. It was also offered on a month-to-month lease, which meant he wasn’t tied to it long term, if he changed his mind. Or if something happened to him.

The décor was a little (well, a lot) on the girly side, but he’d cope – his masculinity was secure enough to handle it. Besides, he wasn’t expecting to host any visitors; he just needed somewhere to crash at the end of the day. It was a bonus that the place had its own entrance and a private back garden – perfect for a vigilante’s odd hours. 

He’d informed his mom a couple of days ago. She’d been hurt, but had tried to hide it.

“I suppose it’s not a complete surprise,” she’d said, with an air of forced positivity. “You’re a grown man, Oliver. I couldn’t expect you to live at home forever.”

Thea had been less understanding.

“You just came home!” she’d exclaimed in anger and frustration. “We just got you back after five years. Five years Ollie! And now you wanna leave after a couple of months?”

“I’m not _leaving_ , Thea,” he’d tried to reason. “I’m just getting a place of my own. I need my own space. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

That hadn’t been the right response at all. 

She’d given him a look of disgust and stormed up the stairs to her room. 

But he’d done it. He was here now. And the relief at being anywhere but home, was overwhelming. 

Hence the guilt. 

Oliver sighed and straightened up. He eyed his suitcase but decided unpacking could wait until tomorrow. Grocery shopping, sorting out the security…it could all wait until tomorrow. 

He headed straight to the bedroom and collapsed on top of the flowery bedspread, suddenly tired beyond belief. But, underneath the lethargy and the guilt, he felt the barest hint of…happiness. 

For the first time in five years – no, for the first time in his life – he had a place of his own. 

He was asleep in minutes.

* * * *

The first time it happened, Oliver put it down to blood loss.

He’d been riding back to the Foundry and had come across a gang robbing a convenience store at gunpoint. One of the guys had gotten off a lucky shot which had grazed his side. Rather than go to the Foundry, he’d decided to patch himself up at home and save himself the extra journey. He’d entered the apartment through the conveniently dark and private back garden, stripped off his leather jacket and sat on the toilet seat to stitch himself up. Just as he was snipping the last of the sutures he’d heard a gasp. His head had shot up to see a blond girl staring in horror at the wound across his flank. 

“Is that blood?” she’d asked, looking decidedly green. She’d turned her head away with her hand over her mouth and…vanished.

The second time it happened, he attributed it to sleep deprivation. 

He’d been sitting at the small kitchen table working on some invoices from the club contractors when he’d caught a glimpse of the same blond girl walking down the short hallway towards the bedroom. He’d quickly - but silently - grabbed a knife from the rack by the sink and followed her. But just as she reached the door to the bedroom, she’d…vanished again. 

He figured it must have been a momentary side effect from sleep deprivation. He’d been spending a lot of time under the hood since things with Helena had ended; between that, setting up the club, and planning the family christmas party, he’d been burning the candle at both ends.

The third time, he blamed the drugs. 

His battle with the Dark Archer had left him beaten, battered and full of arrow wounds. So after discharging himself from the hospital - and convincing his mom he could cope on his own - he’d retreated to the small apartment to recuperate. 

He hadn’t changed a thing in the apartment - all of the original owner’s furniture and belongings remained. In fact, apart from the clothes in the wardrobe and his gear in the bathroom, he hadn’t left his mark on the place at all. Yet it still felt like a home to him. It was warm and cozy - something that the overly large Queen Mansion could never be. He felt safe here. He felt comfortable. He could be himself.

And that self was currently wallowing in pity. He could freely admit it. He was feeling defeated and powerless in a way he hadn’t since his first weeks on the island. He hadn’t showered in days. He was relying on take-out for sustenance and he was sleeping more than he’d done in years.

And he was popping some heavy duty pain killers. Succumbing to the woozy effects without a care for how they were impeding his reaction times and strength. 

So when he saw her again…yeah, it was definitely a drug-induced hallucination. 

She marched into the living room and blocked his view of the TV while she took in the greasy pizza boxes, the empty soda cans and the unwashed vigilante lying on the sofa. 

‘You need to leave,” she told him, in a stern voice with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re always here, but you need to go. Or else! You have no idea know who you’re messing with, mister!”

He smiled slightly at the threat and would have been content to have her yell at him some more - she was cute when she was angry - but then she faded away and he was left with only the baseball game for company. 

The fourth time…the fourth time, he started to doubt his sanity. 

He was well rested - for the first time in years. He’d recovered from his injuries and was off the medication. And he wasn’t suiting up at night so there was no blood loss to explain it. To explain her. 

Yet there she was. 

Lying on his bed.

She was dressed in a black skirt and a bright blue shirt and she still had her shoes and glasses on, but she looked fast asleep. He crept closer, his sock-clad feet silent on the hard-wood floor as he neared the bed. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder…but it went straight through her. He stumbled back in surprise and banged into the dresser behind him. The tinkling of the bottles shifting on it woke her up. She looked at him in shock and confusion…then blinked out of existence. 

Heart racing, Oliver tried to rationalise the experience. Either he was going crazy…or she was a ghost.

He was inclined to think the latter was true, even though _that_ made him sound crazy. 

But he’d seen things - things that defied explanation - during his time with Reiter on the island. Things that proved that the world was a lot more complicated than people realised. 

And he’d been visited before by people no longer of this earth. Although, they tended to be people closest to him. His Dad, Shado… _they_ were the ghosts that haunted him. His failures. His victims.

He didn't know this girl. 

And he’d like to think he’d have remembered her. She was not a striking beauty like the women of his past. But with her big blue eyes, long blond hair, and full lips, she was…quietly gorgeous.

_Who the hell was she?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the entire story outlined and I hope to post at least one chapter a week.  
> All feedback is very welcome :)


	3. Chapter 3

A startled scream woke Oliver from a dreamless sleep. 

He jack-knifed to a sitting position, his arm sweeping beneath his pillow to grasp the knife stashed there. 

Senses on high alert, heart racing, his eyes met those of the blond standing at the foot of the bed.

His ghost was back.

And she was pissed.

“What are you doing in my bed?” she yelled. “Are you kidding me with this? I thought that lacrosse player in college was bad, but you are taking this stalking thing to a whole ’nother level.”

Oliver surreptitiously dropped the knife and relaxed his shoulders in an effort to appear less intimidating. “I’m not a stalker. I live here.” He tried to keep his voice soft and placating. She was definitely angry but the faint tremble in her voice gave away her underlying fear. 

“No, you don’t. I do.” 

“I started sub-letting this place about six weeks ago.” 

“So you’re a squatter, as well as a stalker? Your mother must be so proud.”

“I’m not a squatter or a stalker. I’m the current legal tenant.” He bit out the words, the effort to stay calm and non-threatening crumbling under his rising frustration. 

“Well then why is all my stuff here? Hmm?” She started pointing around the room. “That’s _my_ bedspread. That’s _my_ scale replica Tardis. That’s _my_ poster on the wall, and that’s _my_ photo on the-” He followed her suddenly confused look to the night-stand beside the bed. 

The empty night-stand.

“Where is my photo? What have you done with it?”

He rolled his eyes. “I haven’t touched your photo.” 

“A stalker, a squatter _and_ a thief? That’s it, I’m calling the police.” She went to grab the cordless phone charging on the dresser but her hand passed straight through it. She gasped, and tried again. Several times. 

“What did you do to my phone? Why can’t I….?” Her voice trailed off. She turned to face him, her ire having melted away in uncertainty and fear. 

Then she disappeared.

Oliver sighed and flopped back on the bed, one arm coming up to cover his eyes. 

Four a.m. chats with hysterical ghosts was _not_ what he had in mind when he moved in here. All he wanted was a place of his own, where he could have some privacy and some peace. 

But that peace kept being shattered by an annoying blond who couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that she was dead.

She needed to go. 

* * *

The clang of the bar working it’s way up the salmon ladder was amplified in the empty foundry. Oliver grunted with each swinging movement, the momentum propelling him higher and higher, even as his muscles screamed in protest. 

He was probably over-doing it. His weeks of recuperation after the confrontation with the Dark Archer had left him out of shape and out of practice. 

But physical exertion usually took his mind off his problems. The monotony of the familiar movements and the strain of his muscles and joints focused his mind, until there was nothing occupying his thoughts but the urge to complete one more repetition. One more sit up. One more press-up.

But it wasn’t working this time. 

Flashes of his defeat at the hands of his latest enemy interrupted his rhythm. Snippets of his conversation with the ghost, his worry for Walter, his guilt at not being there for his family…it all combined to pull his head from the game. 

Half way through his latest ascent on the ladder, Oliver finally gave up and jumped to the ground, landing in a crouch that sent painful shocks through his knees. 

He straightened with a groan, wiped the sweat from this face with his discarded T-shirt and checked the time.

09:34.

He’d been working out for close to four hours. After his early morning chat with Casper the not-so-friendly ghost, sleep had been elusive. So he’d driven through the deserted streets to the Foundry, where _she_ was unable to follow him. 

Oliver gulped down two bottles of water, the extent of his dehydration proving that he had definitely over-done it. 

But he needed to get back in shape. He couldn’t afford to be weak.

And he wouldn’t be beaten again.

Oliver picked up his bow for the first time in weeks, balancing it on his fingertips to feel it’s reassuring weight. He then flipped it around to grasp the handle, the smooth, warm metal of the grip as familiar to him as his own hand.

He grabbed a nearby tennis ball and bounced it on the ground a couple of times before lobbing it to the other side of the foundry. He whipped up the bow and nocked an arrow in one seamless movement before letting the projectile fly. 

There was a satisfying thud as the arrowhead pierced the concrete. 

But the tennis ball, the one that should have been pinned to the wall, bounced unscathed across the floor. 

He’d missed.

Oliver swore under his breath and lowered the bow, his eyes closing in self-recrimination. 

_He’d missed._

_He never fucking missed._

At that moment, Diggle entered the foundry, the tapping of his polished wing-tips on the floor echoing through the open space. He quickly debriefed Oliver on the status of Walter’s disappearance (the investigation of which had revealed a whole lot of nothing), before he picked up Robert Queen’s notebook from the workstation.

He aimed a speculative look Oliver’s way. “Seems like you’re back at fighting weight. And last I checked there were more than a few names to be crossed off in this book.” 

“Those people aren't going anywhere,” Oliver responded with forced casualness in his voice. “With Walter missing, my family needs me right now.” He could hear it for the excuse that it was, but hoped that Diggle would buy it for now. The thought of suiting up right now, of going hunting…It seemed impossible. A single missed target had shattered the confidence he thought he’d regained these past few weeks. 

It seemed the Dark Archer had done more than beat him physically. He’d gotten into his head.

He’d made him lose his edge. 

Oliver’s phone rang at that moment, offering him a reprieve from Diggle’s searching looks. 

“Mr Queen, I just got your message.” It was his realtor. “Is there something wrong with the apartment?”

“Thanks for getting back to me. Nothing’s wrong - I just wondered if you had any information about the previous tenant. I, er…have some mail that’s been delivered and I need to forward it on.”

“Well, the woman I dealt with was a bit thin on details. I got the impression there was some kind of tragedy in the family and she didn’t want to talk about it. Leave it with me and I’ll try to get in contact with her.” 

Oliver muttered his thanks and disconnected the call.

So she _was_ the ghost of the previous tenant. That confirmed his suspicion, but he still didn’t know anything else about her. 

* * *

After checking in with Thea and his mom, Oliver returned to the apartment, resolved to confront his ghost problem, head on. Of all the issues currently facing him, this actually seemed the most manageable. 

Which just proved how messed up his life was. 

_What’s your objective?_

_What are your aims?_

Figure out who she was (or who she used to be). 

Convince her she was dead. 

Then…guide her to the light, or something.

The first aim was proving surprisingly difficult. He still hadn’t heard back from the his realtor, and the apartment appeared to have been cleared of all personal effects. There were no bills, no bank statements lying around, no photographs.

The only thing he’d managed to find was a crumpled dry-cleaning receipt wedged down the side of the sofa, and a chipped coffee mug hidden at the back of a cupboard bearing the name ‘Felicity’ in bright pink letters across the front.

That had given him pause, his mind flashing back to another Felicity he’d, sort of, encountered recently. Could this be the elusive Felicity Smoak? 

But then he remembered what the bald guy from QC - Brian - had said. ‘A last minute vacation’ - not a terminal illness or anything dire like that. 

So the name was just a coincidence.

While he waited for his ghost to show up, he made himself a coffee in the ‘Felicity’ mug and turned on the TV. A news report immediately caught his attention: 

_“…he was actually making a difference. In the four months that the Starling City Vigilante was active, assaults were down, muggings were down, and the murder rate dropped by 16%. So in a very quantifiable way, this man in the hood had been a positive force in this city. So where has he been for the past six weeks?”_

“Too bad he’s missing, or I could have asked him to get rid of you.”

Oliver whipped his head around, startled by the acerbic voice coming from behind him. He could get the drop on assassins and mobsters but one annoying blond girl had the ability to sneak through his defences. 

“You’re back.”

“And you’re here again - why am i not surprised?” she responded dryly. 

Oliver took a deep breath. It was time to try a less confrontational approach. “Hi,” he said, amiably.

“Hi?” she echoed, looking slightly baffled. 

Obviously, amiable-Oliver was confusing the hell out of her. And he wasn’t quite sure how to proceed - how exactly did you start a conversation like this? 

“I need to talk to you about something,” he began.

“Okay,” she replied, drawing out the word in suspicion.

“Has it occurred…do you know, or do you think-”

“The only one person who's allowed to talk in sentence fragments around here, is me,” she interjected. That seemed to give her pause, as if she was only just discovering this about herself.

“Let me start again.” He got to his feet to face her, taken aback by how small she was now that they were finally on the same level. “Hi, I’m Oliver Queen.”

“Hi, Oliver Queen, I’m….I’m….” He could see her start to panic as she struggled to recall her own name. Her eyes widened and flitted around the room as if looking for help. 

Suddenly her eyes lit up and she said confidently, and not a little smugly, “I’m Felicity.”

He glanced behind him at the mug on the coffee table, then narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you know that, or did you just read it from that mug?” 

“No! I totally knew that! I’m Felicity,” she insisted.

“Okay, _Felicity_ ,” he said, emphasising her name. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Go right ahead, _Oliver_.”

“When was the last time you spoke to someone besides me?”

A little crinkle formed between her eyes. “Um…the other day,” she replied, vaguely, looking a little confused.

“And when you're not here,” he indicated the apartment around them, “Where do you go? What do you do?”

Her confusion morphed into mulish defiance. “A lot more than you do by the looks of it. Every time I see you, you’re either sleeping or lounging on the couch.” 

He ignored her jibe and took a step towards her. “Has anything…dramatic happened to you lately?”

She started backing away from him like a cornered animal. He felt a pang of guilt, but kept advancing. 

Maybe it was time for the direct approach. “Felicity, I think you’re a ghost.”

“Wh-What!” she sputtered, shaking her head. “That’s crazy! I’d have to be dead to be a ghost, and I am _not_ dead! I think I would know if I was dead!”

She’d continued backing away from him as she spoke, until she ended up in the middle of the coffee table. When she followed Oliver’s gaze down to her lower legs - which disappeared _through_ the solid piece of oak furniture - she gasped in shock.

She snapped her head up to meet his eyes, absolute panic etched on her face. “Oliver?” she said in a small voice, as if asking for his help.

But he didn’t know what to say. He felt like the worst kind of asshole. Who the hell took a ‘rip-the-bandaid-off’ approach when dealing with this kind of situation?

“Oliver,” she repeated, a single tear rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Wh-what's happening?”

The sight of that tear, and her hesitant question, spurred him into action. He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched as if he could somehow soothe her with his touch. 

At that moment, his cell phone rang.

The noise startled them both. Oliver fumbled in his pocket for the device, hoping to shut it off. But then he realised the ringing was coming from the burner phone in his jacket pocket by the front door - the burner phone only Detective Lance had the number for. 

He hesitated, suddenly feeling conflicted. Lance wouldn’t contact him if it wasn’t urgent, but Oliver was reluctant to step away from Felicity when she looked so broken and vulnerable. 

He glanced towards the door, then back to Felicity. 

But she was gone. 

Oliver released the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. 

He stalked over to the door, pulled the phone from the jacket pocket and answered it.“What do you want?” His voice was harsh, and he never took his eyes off the now empty coffee table, as if he could somehow will Felicity back into existence.

He was so distracted by the thought that he didn’t immediately recognise Laurel’s voice on the other end of the line. 

“Hello? I need your help. I think someone is killing firefighters.”

* * *

“So…I’m a ghost.”

She startled him, yet again, her surprise appearance this time sparking a coughing fit - his lungs were still a little raw after the fight in the burning building earlier that evening.

The fight that he’d lost. 

He never should have put on the hood again. He should have trusted his first instinct, to just hand over the information about the arsonist to the police and stay out of it.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. 

Right now, Felicity stood in front of him, looking surprisingly composed for someone who had just learned of her own mortality. 

When he regained his breath, Oliver nodded at her slowly, “I’m so sorry.” 

The words seemed inadequate, but they were true. He did feel sorry for her. It made him wonder when exactly she’d changed from an annoyance to be rid of, into someone he…cared about.

“It makes sense,” Felicity said, coming to sit next to him on the couch - or rather, hover _over_ the couch. 

“I’m not one to ignore empirical evidence,” she continued. “I wandered through the building earlier while you were gone, and no one else could see me or even hear me. So I thought of that Sherlock Holmes thing, you know, ‘when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ But that doesn’t really apply here - _everything_ about this is impossible. So then I thought about Occam’s razor and how the simplest explanation was often the best. Which means I’m either a figment of your imagination or… I’m a ghost.” 

He smiled slightly at her animated babbling. She seemed more...alive...than most people he knew. Himself included.

She turned to face him, and met his smile with a wry one of her own. “To be honest, I’d prefer it if you were just going crazy, but I guess, either way, it means I’m not real.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, at a loss for what else to say.

Her smile widened slightly. “It’s not your fault. Or is it?” She narrowed her eyes and peered at him in mock accusation.

He returned her smile. “No, it’s not my fault. But I’d like to help you, if I can.”

“Help me?”

“To…move on.”

“Move on,” she said slowly.

“Yeah, you know, head into the light, pass over. Help you solve your unfinished business.”

“I think you’ve been watching too many movies.”

He laughed at that. A genuine laugh. The sound was rusty but not unwelcome. He hadn’t had much to laugh at…in years. “I don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

Off her confused look, he explained. “I’m a bit…out of touch with popular culture." He turned serious, "I would like to help you, though, in any way that I can. I know a bit about being trapped somewhere you don’t belong.”

Maybe that was the reason he’d softened towards her. Or maybe it was how brave she was being right now. Her composure, and humour, in the midst of this weird and terrifying experience, was admirable. 

“Why can’t I just stay here?” she asked.

“You can, I guess. But what kind of existence would that be? You’re not really you anymore. You can’t remember who you were, or who you’re loved ones are. And maybe…maybe there’s somewhere better you’re supposed to be.”

He was raised to believe in the concept of heaven and hell, but the small amount of faith he’d had was burnt away by the cruelty and injustice of the dark side of the world he’d been exposed to. 

But if ghosts existed - and he was staring at that proof right now - it was possible that heaven did as well. Maybe Felicity wasn’t just a remnant of a former life - a mere facsimile, lingering in the physical world. 

Maybe she was a soul, stuck in limbo. 

She didn’t say anything for a moment or two, possibly contemplating the same spiritual issues he was. Finally, she turned back to face him. “Okay, I guess we need to try.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replied. Then she cocked her head and looked at him, a speculative gleam in her eye. 

“Why do I feel I can trust you? This is a pretty bizarro situation and we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. Yet I still feel like I can trust you. Why is that?”

“Well, I have one of those faces,” he joked, trying to defuse the unexpected intimacy of the conversation.

But she saw right through his deflection and glanced away, her face a picture of disappointment.

“Sorry,” he whispered. When she looked back at him, he continued. “Yes,” he said, meeting her eyes intently, “You can trust me.”

She nodded, and he was struck again by how brave she was. There were no histrionics, no crying out against the injustice of her situation. She’d accepted it and was willing to trust a stranger to help her deal with it.

It put him to shame. Made him feel like a coward for refusing to take up the vigilante mantle again. Digg was right - he was letting his fear overtake him. He needed to push it aside, help the firefighters, then resume his mission to take down the men in the notebook.

“How are we going to do this?” Felicity’s question interrupted his resolution. 

He smiled. His earlier thoughts of heaven and hell and spirits had given him an idea, “I know just the guy to call.”


	4. Chapter 4

_“This is John Constantine. If you feel you’ve reached this message in error, then sod off, ya lucky bastard. The rest of you, don’t leave a number and lock your door. Cheers!”_

Oliver rolled his eyes at the ridiculous greeting but left a brief message after the beep.

Now he just had to wait.

He stripped off his shirt and started doing one-armed press ups. The chill of the concrete floor seeped through the palm of his hand and made him wish he’d worn his gloves. Then he scoffed at the thought - he was going soft. A few months back in civilisation and he was forgetting what real discomfort was.

He was halfway through his set when Diggle arrived. “With all those construction guys upstairs you might want to think about a side entrance for your…Arrow Cave.”

“Just put one in,” Oliver replied as he jumped to his feet. “South alleyway.”

He walked over to the workstation and gestured for Diggle to follow him. “Something I want to show you.”

“You're finally getting into on-line dating and you need help with your profile,” Diggle teased.

At the word ‘dating’, Oliver suddenly had a flash of Felicity’s face, and the smile she’d graced him with that morning as he’d left the apartment. Shaking it off, he talked Diggle through the recent spate of armoured truck robberies, and the possible connection to Blackhawk Security and Ted Gaynor - apparently an old army buddy of Digg’s. 

Despite, Digg’s disagreement over Gaynor’s potential guilt, Oliver felt good about this new target. 

He was back on fighting form, the doubts and uncertainties the Dark Archer had put in his head had disappeared. 

It was time to get down to business. 

* * *

Oliver sat on the couch absently twirling the USB stick in his hands. He’d taken it from Blackhawk after his confrontation with Gaynor, but with the amount of encryption on it, it was more useful as a paperweight than a lead at the moment. 

In Hong Kong, getting information was as a matter of intimidation, interrogation, and pain. But Starling City ran on technology. And the secrets he needed were too often hidden behind passwords and firewalls. 

He could really use someone with tech skills... 

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice Felicity had materialised until she spoke. “What’s that?” she asked pointing to the device in his hands.

“Shit!” he yelled, jumping to his feet, his heart pounding. The frustration at the latest dead end, combined with his annoyance at being startled - again - spilled over. “This,” he snapped, waving the flash drive, “Is none of your business. Nothing here is any of your damn business.” 

“Woah!” she exclaimed with her hands raised in surrender. “Someone got out of the wrong side of my bed this morning.” She winced, hearing the words. “And by _my bed_ , I meant the bed you were using in my apartment. Ugh, my brain thinks of the worst way to say things.”

He couldn’t even smile at her innuendo, or her flustered state. “Don’t you have somewhere else you could go haunt? Every time I turn around, you’re popping up out of the aether.”

“Well I’m so sorry for hanging around _my_ apartment. Maybe you should just move out?”

“I’m not going anywhere. But as soon as my contact gets back to me, you’ll be the one leaving.”

There was a flash of stunned hurt in her eyes, but she quicky straightened her back and levelled an icy glare his way. “I need some air,” she said, heading for the front door. “And don’t even think about making a crack about my lack of respiration,” she spat just before she walked _through_ the door. 

As dramatic exits went, it was pretty good. 

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He’d been a dick to her. 

He just hated the way she was able to spook him. He was well aware he had…issues…stemming from his time on the island. It was part of the reason he’d moved out of Queen Manor. Being around people - living with other people - it reminded him that his reactions, his hyper-vigilance, wasn’t…normal.

And now he was effectively living with someone who was constantly sneaking up on him. He knew that wasn’t her intention, but without footfalls or scent to announce her arrival, she always took him by surprise. Every single time. And it always sparked a visceral reaction in him, that left him shaking and breathless and…weak. 

And he hated it. 

He’d also had some time to think since their conversation last night, and had come to the conclusion that he needed to put some distance between them. He admired her and respected her. Even the spark she’d shown tonight, the way she’d stood up to him…he liked her. But he couldn’t afford to get close to anyone right now - especially someone who was already dead.

He’d lost so many people already…

His phone rang and he answered it automatically, expecting an update from Digg on his infiltration of Blackhawk.

But it was a different John on the line.

“Oliver! It’s been a dog’s age, mate.”

“More than,” Oliver said, smiling at the familiar Scouse accent. “Do you remember that favour you owe me?”

“I’d hardly expect you to let me forget that.”

“Well, I need your help. Will you be passing through Starling City any time soon?”

“Ah, not for a few weeks at least, I’m afraid - got a bit of a situation back here in Blighty. Can it wait?”

“Yeah,” Oliver replied, closing his eyes. Three weeks. He could manage three weeks. “It’s not life or death.” 

In a manner of speaking.

* * *

The next morning at breakfast Oliver heard a faint tapping sound. Then a whistle. And finally a knock.

He smiled, grudgingly. “Good morning, Felicity.”

“Was that enough of a warning for you?” she asked, as she materialised in the chair opposite him. There was still a bite to her voice. 

_Shit._ He was going to have to apologise. Especially if they were to have a hope of peaceful co-habitation for the forseeable future. Without raising his head, he muttered a quick, “I’m sorry.”

“Were you apologising to me? Or were you talking to your cereal?” 

He lifted his head and met her eyes. She was looking at him cooly, obviously not about to let him get away with a half-assed apology. “I didn't snap at my cereal.”

“You kind of more than snapped,” she sighed.

“I know,” he said, leaning forward. “And I _am_ sorry.” She didn’t deserve the way he’d spoken to her.

“If I can’t leave - and you won’t leave - then we’re going to have to learn to co-exist, Oliver. At least until your friend can get here.”

“Yeah, about that - he called after you left last night. It’s going to take him at least three weeks to arrive.”

She took a deep breath. “Three weeks. Okay. Three weeks is doable, right?”

“Right.” 

He wasn’t sure if he was reassuring her, or himself.

* * * 

Oliver had spent the better part of two years sleeping rough on a cold, hostile island in the North China Sea. Comparatively, living with a ghost in a nicely-appointed apartment with running water and central heating was a cake-walk. 

There were a few drawbacks, though.

For instance, Felicity liked to talk. 

A lot. 

She chatted to him while he ate. Asked him about his day when he got home. Talked over the game when he tried to watch TV. Gossiped about the neighbours she’d been spying on. 

She was also around. A lot. 

He began to miss the days when she would pop in unannounced and scare him half to death. At least that meant she was gone some of the time. 

He tried not to take it out on her - it wasn't like she had anywhere else to go - but the lack of privacy was killing him. 

Two days into their co-habitation, he’d emerged from the steamy bathroom wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. He was scrubbing a smaller towel through his damp hair, so didn’t see her at first. 

But he heard her.

“Oh!” she gasped. 

She stood frozen in the hallway, a blush staining her cheeks as her eyes roamed over his naked torso. When she licked her lips, a small remnant of the vain playboy he’d once been took satisfaction in her obvious desire. 

Until she noticed his scars. 

Her double take would have been comical, if it wasn’t for the immediate pity he saw on her face as she took in the damage five years had wrought on his flesh. 

“Oliver,” she whispered, coming towards him, her hand outstretched as if she could soothe away old hurts. He backed away before she could reach him. 

“What happened to you?” she asked softly.

“Shipwrecked on an island for five years.” He spoke in the dispassionate, matter-of-fact tone he used when discussing his past. But then he surprised himself by continuing, “I wasn’t alone. And the people there were…less than friendly.”

He usually kept that part of it to himself. Maybe it was the honest compassion in her eyes that made him share that secret. Or maybe it was the fact that she had no-one to tell.

“But you survived.” 

“I survived.” The _‘by any means necessary’_ was unspoken, but he got the feeling she caught his implication anyway. 

She regarded him thoughtfully, “You are not who I thought you were.” 

He was careful to remain fully dressed around her from that point on, both to avoid any further questions and to hide the bruises and scrapes he inevitably picked up after a night under the hood. 

Because that was another drawback - she was just too damned curious. 

She didn’t know about his less-than-legal nighttime activities, and he was trying to keep it that way. But it was difficult. Every time he slipped up, she’d give him this searching look, as if he was a mystery she felt compelled to solve.

Sometimes she would catch him limping, or wincing as he stretched to reach into a kitchen cupboard. The first couple of times it happened, he made up some lame excuse about an over-enthusiastic trainer at the gym. 

But that didn’t fly when he arrived home one night with a black eye, courtesy of a lucky punch from Digg during a sparring session.

“Oliver, what happened? Did you get in a fight?” she gasped, as he came through the door. Her hand rose to hover over his swollen cheek and discoloured eye.

“It’s fine. I just…walked into a door at the club.”

Her hand dropped and she glared at him in annoyance, “Don’t insult my intelligence, Oliver. And don’t lie to me.”

“Felicity, if you don’t want me to lie to you, stop asking me questions.”

She looked hurt for a moment, and he nearly apologised. But then she tilted her head back and scowled up at him, “Fine. Whatever.” 

As she spoke, her face caught the patch of sunlight streaming from the living room window behind him. It illuminated the tiny freckles on her nose. He’d never noticed them before. 

They were cute. 

The thought unsettled him. He took a step back, and only then did he realise how close they’d been standing. Personal space was a moot concept for a ghost that could literally walk _through_ him, but she’s been careful up until now not to get too near him. 

He needed to remember his resolve to keep some distance between them – emotionally, and now physically. 

* * *

Unfortunately, that became more difficult with each passing day. He got used to her chatter, and gradually started to appreciate her company. She was smart and funny, and he came to crave the brightness that she brought to his life.

And she was so easy to be around. He often found himself sharing things with her, to get her perspective, or just to lighten his burden of worries and secrets. 

He talked to her about important things, like Thea’s drug-driving arrest, and his concerns about her spiralling. And he talked to her about less important things, like the contractor over-charging him for the bar installation in the club.

Sometimes the two of them were down right domestic. 

“Where did you learn to cook?” Felicity asked. She’d been standing by the fridge watching him for the past ten minutes but had been quiet up until now. 

Oliver consulted the recipe on his phone and added the herbs to the casserole before replying, “When I came back from the island, I asked Raisa – our housekeeper – to show me some things. I wanted to expand my horizons beyond what I could do on the island. Which was basically cooked and…uncooked.” 

Felicity made a face at that but edged closer to the stove as Oliver poured in the required amount of red wine. As he stirred the mixture, fragrant steam rose from the pot to fill the small kitchen. “I never learned to cook. I don’t remember my mom being a whizz in the kitchen and I guess I take after her.”

“You remember your mom?” Oliver asked. 

“Sort of. I get these flashes - nothing I can piece together into a whole memory.” She shook her head in obvious frustration, “It’s weird. I can remember abstract things, but nothing really personal. Like, I can recall being fed nachos in a casino when I was little. And I remember smoke and the smell of burning soup in our kitchen…but I can’t picture _her_.”

“That must be hard,” Oliver responded. “When I was on the island…” he trailed off, suddenly feeling vulnerable about sharing himself with her. But she didn’t push, and when he glanced away from the simmering pot to meet her eyes, the lack of pity there gave him the courage to continue, “Sometimes the only thing that kept me going was the thought of my family. All the people I’d left behind. I’d spend hours wondering what they were doing. Whether they were getting on with their lives without me. How they would react if I ever made it home.”

Oliver sighed and shook his head. He served himself a plate of the now cooked casserole, poured himself a glass of the remaining red wine, and took a seat at the small kitchen table.

Felicity leaned back against the refrigerator, “I miss red wine,” she lamented. 

Oliver glanced her way, then stood up and, without a word, plated her some food and poured her a glass of wine.

He set a place at the table opposite him, then gestured to the unoccupied chair, “Felicity, would you like to have dinner with me?” 

His question was slightly hesitant. It had occurred to him halfway through serving up the food that she might take offence at the gesture. But he didn’t mean it in a mocking way. He just thought she’d sounded…lonely, and he wanted to include her. 

She swallowed, and in a husky voice replied, “Yes. Thank you.”

They were silent for a while. He ate, and she watched him, her chin cushioned on one hand while the fingers of the other absently drifting through the stem of the wine glass.

“So was it everything you expected?” she asked eventually, resuming their prior conversation. 

“What?”

“Coming home. Reconnecting with your family and friends.”

Oliver took a sip of wine as he contemplated his answer. “Five years is a long time,” he said eventually. “And I changed – a lot – during that period. But, I was still surprised, by how much _they’d_ changed. My mom remarried, Thea’s now a teenager – and a rebellious one at that. And Laurel…”

“Laurel?” 

“My ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh.” 

“My ex-girlfriend who I cheated on by taking her sister on a soon-to-be-shipwrecked boat.”

“Oh,” Felicity repeated, this time drawing out the syllable. “Yikes,” she winced. 

Oliver chuckled humourlessly. “Yeah. Yikes.”

“And you’re…what? Trying to reconnect with her?”

“Laurel and I…it’s complicated.” Oliver laughed again. “It’s always been complicated. We’ve known each other forever. But before the island, she was…pushing me. For a commitment I wasn’t ready to make. So I sabotaged us.”

“By taking her sister on a sex cruise.”

It was Oliver’s turn to wince. “Yeah. But on the island, I had Laurel’s picture with me. And it was like this...talisman. It gave me strength - gave me the will to survive - so I could get back to her and make things right.”

“And have you?”

“What?”

“Made things right”

“I don’t know. Some days I'm sure she hates me. But then she’ll say something, and it’s almost like she’s forgiven me…”

“Do you…” Felicity hesitated. “Do you still love her?”

Oliver leaned back in his seat and sighed. “She’s with Tommy now.”

“Tommy? Your best friend Tommy? Wow, no wonder you called it complicated.” 

Oliver gave her a wry smile. “So it doesn’t matter how I feel.”

“I think it does, Oliver.”

“How so?”

“Well, if you’re going to abide by the bro-code and step aside for Tommy, then you need to get over her. And to get over her, you need to know what it is you’re getting over. Do you love her? Or do you just love the idea of her? Because, you’re right, five years is a long time. She’s not going to be the girl you remembered from before. And she’s definitely not going to be this paragon you built up on the island.”

Oliver looked down at his empty plate, lost in thought. Did he love Laurel, or just the idea of her? Did he even really love her back before the island? He’d lied to her, and cheated on her – a lot – and yet she’d stayed with him, fully aware of his faults. Is that what was so appealing about her – the unconditional nature of her affection? Could he really have loved her, and shown her so little respect and care? 

“In some ways,” Felicity said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s like we’re both in limbo. I’m stuck between worlds, and you’re stuck in time. You have one foot in the present, but you’re clinging to the past. You’re trying to match these people to your previous frame of reference. But they’ve changed. You’ve all changed so much. I think you need to get to know who they are now, then figure out how you can fit into their lives.” 

He frowned, realising that much of what she said was true. He still saw Thea as the little girl he left behind, but she was legally an adult now. And she’d been through her own struggles over the past five years. And Tommy…Tommy had obviously matured, yet Oliver had laughed in his face when he’d asked for a job. 

Oliver had so resented the fact that his family expected him to be the Ollie of his youth. When he was just as guilty of expecting the same from them. 

And maybe that was the reason why it was so much easier to be around Digg and Felicity. To let his guard down and open up to them. He had no preconceived ideas about them. And they had no expectations of him. 

They were starting fresh. 

Felicity must have misinterpreted his expression. “I’m sorry,” she blurted, sounding flustered. “I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s none of my business. I don’t even know if I’m fit to give relationship advice - I could just be some crazy spinster cat-lady.”

Oliver laughed. “Somehow, I doubt that,” he said softly, the warmth in his gaze making Felicity blush, “Thank you, Felicity. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for dinner,” she replied, gesturing at her still full plate with a cheeky grin.

“Anytime,” he said. And he wasn't surprised to find that he meant it.


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m fine,” Oliver groused as he and Diggle walked through the garden to the back door of his building. 

After spending the night hand-cuffed to a cold, hard medical table in the foundry, Oliver was desperate for a few hours of peace and a soft bed in which to recover from his dose of Vertigo. But Diggle had insisted on driving him home, _and_ escorting him to his apartment door.

“I’m still technically your bodyguard, man, so suck it up,” Diggle responded, as Oliver fumbled for his keys. “Besides, I wanted to check out your new place – you’ve been weirdly secretive about it.”

“There’s no secret, I just like my privacy,” he mumbled as he finally got the door opened.

“Where the hell have you been?” Oliver winced as Felicity’s loud voice cut through his already pounding head. He glanced at Diggle, but the other man seemed oblivious to the blond girl standing right in front of them with her arms crossed.

Oliver met her eyes and shook his head slightly as Diggle asked, “Where’s the bedroom? I don’t trust you to remain vertical for much longer.”

“Down there,” he pointed out the door at the end of the hallway. “I can take it from here. Thanks.”

Digg eyed him sceptically. “Okay. Sleep it off, then call me and we’ll see about tracking down the Count’s-”

“Okay, will do,” Oliver said, his raised voice cutting off Digg before he could spill the beans to his roommate. 

It may have seemed redundant to keep his identity a secret from Felicity - she literally had no one to tell - but Oliver was still reluctant to reveal the truth of his night-time activities. Their initial anmosity had turned into a tentative friendship, and he was loathe to ruin that.

And exposing lies always ruined things.

Plus, if he was being honest with himself, he was worried how Felicity would react to knowing he was a killer - he didn’t ever want her to look at him with fear or disgust in her beautiful blue eyes.

So it was best if she didn’t know. 

After Diggle left, Oliver took three steps towards the bedroom before swaying on his feet, suddenly feeling dizzy. He braced himself on the wall and closed his eyes. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Felicity asked quietly. He opened his eyes to find her in front of him, peering up at him with concern. 

He straightened up and resumed walking. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look like something the cat dragged in. Or, in this case, like something the big scary black guy dragged in.”

Oliver huffed out a laugh at her description as he collapsed onto the bed. “That was Diggle.”

“That was Diggle?” she repeated. “I finally got to meet one of your friends!”

Any other time he would have been amused by her obvious delight, but he was currently seeing two of her, and the way she was bouncing around the room was making him feel nauseous. 

“Felicity, would you mind leaving me alone for a bit. I…I have a bit of a hangover,” he lied, playing up the party-boy image he was famous for. 

“A hangover?” 

“Yes, a hangover,” he sighed, closing his eyes again. 

“So that’s why you never came home last night? You were out drinking.” 

There was something off in her tone. Oliver opened his eyes but she quickly turned away before he could read her face. She was like an open book to him, and she knew it. 

“What’s wrong, Felicity?”

She sighed and turned back to him. “I was worried about you last night. I didn’t know where you’d gone or when you’d be home – not that I’m expecting you to clue me in on every detail of your life. It’s just…I felt so helpless. If you’d been hurt or- or- or kidnapped, there’s nothing I could have done to help. I couldn't even pick up a phone!”

Her concern warmed him. And that was strange, seeing as part of the reason he’d moved out of Queen Mansion was to get away from the smothering concern of his family. But with Felicity…it felt different.

“And then you found out I’d just been out partying,” he said softly, realising his flippant lie had hurt her. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Oliver, I’m taking my issues out on you. You don’t owe me an explanation.” 

She turned to leave but he stopped her with a soft, “Hey.” 

She glanced back at him as he struggled to a sitting position. “We’re friends aren’t we?”

“I don’t know. Are we?” she replied.

“I’d like to think so. And friends are considerate of each other. I should have realised you’d be wondering where I was. In the future, I’ll call here and leave a message you can hear.”

“Thanks, Oliver.” She came over to stand between his legs, peering into his face. “Are you sure it’s just a hangover? Your pupils are really dilated. I don’t know much about drugs – apart from an ill-advised pot brownie experiment in college – and, wow, how can I remember that and not my own name? Anyway,” she said, shaking it off, “You look like you’ve taken something.”

“I haven’t,” he deflected, “I’m, ah, very particular about what I put in my body.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said distractedly. Then her eyes shot up to his in embarrassment. “I said _not_ noticed, right?”

He huffed out a laugh as she covered her face with her hand. 

When she’d regained her composure, he could tell she wasn’t fooled by the way she kept examining his face. “Seriously, Oliver. You look high. Maybe your drink was spiked – there’s been news reports about a new drug going around. You should go to the hospital.”

“I don’t need a hospital, just a nap.”

“But they could take a blood sample to confirm it. And then maybe they could figure out what’s in it, and even where it’s being made - that might help out the Police.”

That made Oliver sit up straight, “Can they do that? Find out where it’s being manufactured?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, it would work better on a drug sample than a blood sample, but all you’d need is a mass spectrometer – every lab should have one.”

“Would QC have one?” he enquired as he stood up, remembering the two vials of Vertigo Digg had managed to snag last night. 

She watched him curiously as he took his cell out of his pocket, “Your family’s company? Yeah, if it has a Science division.”

“Digg?” Oliver barked into the phone when the other man answered, “Meet me at QC in 20 minutes.”

“You’re leaving?” Felicity asked. 

“Yeah, I’ve got to go. Thanks, Felicity,” he called as he headed for the front door. Only to be brought up short by the package lying on the floor in front of him.

“Oh, that got dropped off last night. Some guy pushed it under the door.” 

“What guy?” Oliver asked as he picked up the parcel. 

“Some guy in a suit. He looked really nervous. I followed him out to his car and memorised the license plate.”

Oliver glanced up at her, impressed. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out a small non-descript brown notebook. A very familiar looking notebook, with a very familiar list of names scrawled on the pages within. As he fluttered through the pages, a note fell out. It was unsigned, and written in a blocky, masculine script. 

_Mr Queen,_

 _Walter Steele asked me to look into this – it belonged to your mother. I have a feeling this book had something to do with his disappearance, so I don’t want anything more to do with it._

His mother had a copy of the notebook. How was that possible?

“What is it?” Felicity asked.

“Um, nothing important,” he muttered, shoving the notebook in his pocket. He couldn’t think about this just now. The implications of it…

No. There would be a reasonable explanation for it. But he could figure it out later. His objective right now was the Count - he needed to focus on tracking him down, and taking him out. 

Everything else could wait. 

* * *

_3 days later…._

Oliver entered the offices of CNRI and took a moment to acclimate to the noise and bustle as lawyers and assistants flitted around him in a symphony of organised chaos.

He spotted Laurel on the phone at her desk. He waved when he caught her eye and she held a finger up to ask him to wait while she finished the call. He took the opportunity to study her and think about what he and Felicity had discussed over dinner last week. 

How did he really feel about Laurel?

He knew he cared about her. He wanted her to be happy. And he’d be forever grateful that she’d spared Thea jail time; Oliver may have taken down the Count and stopped his operation, but Laurel was the one who’d actually saved his sister. He admired the work that she did, and her passion for justice... 

But was he in love with her? 

Had he ever been in love with her?

 _No_.

The certainty of his answer stunned Oliver. 

But it felt honest. 

He hadn’t been capable of true love back when he’d been a selfish, cheating asshole. And the way he’d treated Laurel, and their relationship, proved it. Even the guilt at betraying her with Sara hadn’t been enough to stop him falling for Shado mere months after arriving on the island. Then there had been Sara again, and Taiana, and Helena….

If he truly loved Laurel, she would be the only one for him. 

But he didn’t pine for her, or miss her when they were apart. The thought of never being with her again didn’t devastate him…

Felicity was right. He’d been living in the past - hoping that if he reconciled with Laurel it would somehow negate the last five years and he’d be forgiven for…everything. 

But she wasn’t the answer. She wasn’t his penance, or his salvation, or his reward. 

She was just an old friend. 

“Oliver?” Laurel’s voice interrupted his epiphany. 

He lifted his head and met her eyes with an easy smile, “Hi.”

“Hi, what brings you here?”

“I was looking for Thea, actually.” 

“Speak of the devil,” she replied, looking past him. 

Oliver turned to see his sister walking up the stairs behind him. She was carrying several folders and looked slightly harried. “I finally got those deposition transcripts you wanted, Laurel. Oh, hey, Ollie,” she looked at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d take you to lunch.”

She still looked confused - as if the concept was unheard of - but started collecting her things. 

Oliver felt a stab of guilt – he should have made more of an effort to see her after moving out of Queen Mansion. Maybe that could have prevented her from spiralling…although he had a feeling the drug-taking and reckless behaviour predated his fleeing the nest. 

His disappearance, and their father’s death, had really done a number on their family. 

As he helped Thea into her coat, he resolved to be a better brother. A better son. A better friend to Laurel and to Tommy. 

A better man.

* * *

“You’re here,” Digg shouted, raising is voice to be heard over the grinding of metal against stone.

Oliver paused in the act of sharpening the arrowhead and flipped up the protective goggles he wore. “Where else would I be?”

“You tell me. You haven’t been down here much since we stopped the Count.” 

“I’ve been spending some time with Thea.”

“Hmmm.”

Oliver lifted his head at the sceptical sound. Digg was watching him, arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked.

“Spit it out, Digg.”

“You’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

“No,” Oliver replied quickly. But that felt…disloyal somehow, to Felicity. “Not in the conventional definition of the word.” 

That was vague enough to be true. There was nothing romantic between them, but they had been spending a lot of time together. 

She was surprisingly relaxing company. Just yesterday they’d spent the day hanging out on the couch - he’d watched TV (in a vain attempt to catch up on five years worth of entertainment) and Felicity had read a novel. Unable to hold it herself, he’d rested the book on his lap and she’d read it over his shoulder, murmuring ‘next’ when she wanted the page turned. 

It had been peaceful. Comfortable. 

And fun. When she’d grown bored of her book, she’d started commentating on the TV show he was watching, adding dialogue and speculating about the character’s sex lives. He’d spent the day laughing. Not in pain, or wracked by guilt, or buried under secrets. He’d just...had fun. 

“You’re smiling!” Digg’s own grin widened as he spoke, “There’s definitely a woman involved - Is it that vice cop? What was she called? Mercedes?”

“McKenna?”

“Yeah, looked like there was something there.”

“There used to be,” Oliver admitted. “And she…dropped some hints about going out again, but, no. A good friend told me I needed to stop looking backwards, and move forwards.”

“Whoever it is, I’m happy for you, man.” Digg tipped his head to the side, regarding Oliver thoughtfully, “You seem…lighter.” He suddenly sighed and leaned back against the workbench behind him. “Which is why I hate to do this.”

“Do what?”

“This,” Digg replied as he pulled a small recording device from his pocket. He looked at it for a few moments, as if trying to decide something, before meeting Oliver’s eyes. “I’ve been driving your mother around for the past couple of days.”

Oliver straightened up. “You’ve been spying on her?”

“The evidence against her was mounting up - that notebook Walter found was pretty incriminating.”

“She’s not involved in what’s going on, Digg - she didn’t know any of the names in the book.”

“So she said, before she conveniently tossed it in the fire. If this was anyone else you’d be hooded up right now ready to have an arrow-side chat with them.”

“She’s not anyone else, she’s my mother,” Oliver fired back, angry at Digg’s interference - and his insinuations.

“Someone needed to take a close, objective look at her-”

“So you bugged her!” Oliver spat out. 

“Oliver, man,” Digg sighed. “Just listen to it.”

Oliver grabbed the device and pressed play. He couldn’t make out the man she was talking to - the sound was garbled, distorted. But his mother's voice was unmistakable.

_“I made it clear to him persuasively that his plans endangered the undertaking. I didn’t have to make the usual threats.”_

Oliver’s felt sick as he listened to her incriminate herself. 

She’d lied to him - she was right in the thick of it. 

And then it got worse.

He felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut when she admitted knowing the Queen’s Gambit had been sabotaged.

 _Sabotaged_.

The shipwreck…it hadn’t been just a freak accident. Someone had done this to him - to his father, to Sara.

Everything he’d been through - all the death and pain and suffering. Five years - five years! - in hell…and it was someone’s doing. It was all part of a plan.

And his mother was involved somehow.

It was time to get some answers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly shorter chapter this week, but it's our first glimpse into Felicity's head. Hope you like it!

She’s here all the time now.

Well, according to Oliver, at least. 

And that was good. Very good. 

When she used to...vanish...she didn’t know what happened to her, or where she went. There was no awareness. No sense of herself, or of time or space. 

She vaguely recalled being a teenager and going under anaesthesia to have her appendix removed, and how between one sluggish blink and the next, she’d moved from pre-op to recovery. The time between was just…gone. 

Her disappearances were like that. 

And she hated it. 

She didn’t like to think of herself…not existing. Which was strange because she didn’t exist. Not really. Not to anyone but Oliver. She was like the proverbial tree falling in the woods - if only Oliver could see her, was she really there? 

Was she alive?

She had no substance. No metabolism. No need for oxygen or sustenance. 

But she was self-aware. She had thoughts, and feelings and pieces of memories.

Maybe she was like a virus - straddling the definition of life. Viruses needed a host to function, otherwise they were inert. Dormant.

And she didn’t exist in this state until Oliver moved in…. 

_Was Oliver her host?_

She shook her head at the ridiculous thought. 

_I’m not a virus. I’m a ghost._

She repeated the mantra to herself. 

_I’m a ghost._

_I’m a ghost._

_Because I’m dead._

It didn’t feel real.

She didn’t _feel_ dead. 

She was in the unique position of being able to grieve her own life…but she wasn’t able to. Because she didn’t know what to grieve _for_. Who was she? What did she do for a living? Was she kind? Was she brave? Had she made a difference in the world…?

Did anyone love her? Did anyone miss her?

The answers were there for the taking. Oliver’s realtor had finally given him the phone number of the person letting the apartment and he’d offered to call right away…but she’d said no.

Call it cowardice, call it self-preservation, but that knowledge would make her death real, and she wanted to stay in denial. 

She didn’t want to spend her last couple of weeks on earth mourning what was or what could have been. She wanted to enjoy this…limbo, this odd little half-life she was experiencing with Oliver.

 _Oliver_. 

It was strange that he was the only one who could see her. Maybe it was because he lived here, and had some connection to the apartment – her apartment. But that didn’t seem quite right. _She_ didn’t feel a connection to the apartment. 

But she felt a connection to _him_.

Her awareness of him was this low level hum just beneath her subconscious, as if she was vibrating on his frequency. And she felt drawn to him – even when he was across the city, she could feel him, could sense where he was, as if he was due north and she was spinning to meet him. 

And the longer they spent in each other’s company, the more she picked up from him. When he was stressed, she felt…itchy; when he was tired, she felt heavy and sluggish. When he was angry, it resonated as faint shocks across her skin. 

She was like an Oliver-barometer.

Last week, when he’d supposedly been out drinking all night, she’d known he was in trouble – she’d sensed his…disorientation, his panic. And that had left her tearing her hair out with worry. She’d spent the entire night pacing the floor of the apartment, willing him to walk through the door. She’d tried to pick up the phone to call for help a million times, but her hand would just waft right through it.

She’d never felt so helpless.

And when he’d finally arrived home – safe and in one piece – she may have been just a little angry. And hurt. Because while she had spent the night wracked with worry and frustration…he’d been partying. Without a care in the world, and without a thought for her. 

And she knew that was unfair – he wasn’t responsible for her. She was just an unexpected (and unwanted) roommate.

But he was literally all she had in the world. He was her only connection to humanity. 

And she…cared about him.

Sure he was grouchy sometimes. And when they’d first met he’d been confrontational and snappish with her. 

But she soon realised that was because her sudden appearances sparked some kind of fight-or-flight reflex in him. It went beyond mere shock - because, lets face it, everyone would jump if a ghost suddenly materialised in front of them. No, Oliver’s reactions were more than that. 

They were like panic attacks, with panting breaths and wild eyes and pale skin. 

There were other slgns that he was suffering the after effects of some kind of major trauma. The scars were her first clue – and what a crime that was, to mar that spectacular chest and six-pack!

The second clue was the nightmares.

She tried not to spy on him when he was sleeping, because – Hello! Creepy. But she’d hear him thrashing in bed, calling out in his sleep, and she’d be drawn to him. Unable to soothe him with her touch, she’d lean close and whisper soft words of comfort. And it worked – he’d gradually calm and go still, then settle into a deep peaceful sleep, unaware of her intervention. 

It was impossible _not_ to care for someone who was suffering that much. He was so lost, and…lonely. 

His sister and his friend, Tommy, had started to visit. And while he obviously loved them, the Oliver she saw interact with them, was not _her_ Oliver. He hid from them, in a way that he couldn’t do with her. 

He’d put on this…mask around them, and don the persona of a happy, functioning, carefree man. A disguise to hide his pain and secrets. 

He had a lot of secrets. 

And he told a lot of lies. 

That was part of the reason she didn’t buy his cover story for the night he went missing. Her Oliver was not the type to get drunk and drugged at a rave. For all the media liked to portray him as a feckless playboy, she knew that wasn’t true.

He was serious. Controlled and disciplined. 

He had depths she longed to explore. But he was so closed off. 

Sure, they’d become friendly lately. And his inherent kindness was starting to shine through – he’d made her dinner (and while she couldn’t attest to its taste, the gesture had been really sweet), and he’d started leaving the TV on for her when she was home, to give her some company. Just yesterday, he’d held a book for her, and turned the pages so she could read it. Such a simple thing, but it had meant the world to her. 

And he put up with her chatter, and sometimes he’d smile at her inadvertent innuendo and her train-of-thought babbles. 

Very occasionally, she made him laugh. 

But she wanted to do more. She wanted to lift the veil of sadness that covered him and banish it, once and for all. She wanted him to be happy. 

To live. Not merely exist.

As a ghost, she was coming to understand the vast difference between the two.

Oliver deserved to be happy. For all his secrets and lies and masks, she believed he was a good man, with a good heart.

But all too often, he was hurting, down to his core. He may have been able to hide it from his family and friends, and he may have thought he was unreadable, but her connection to him gave her the cliff notes to the Book of Oliver. She felt his pain like an ache in her chest, pressing the breath from her lungs.

Like now.

Her head shot up. _He was hurting, right now!_

Not physical pain – emotional pain. He was so…conflicted, so confused. He felt betrayed.

She needed to go to him. She wasn’t going to stand around helpless again. 

She spun quickly on the spot, trying to focus on him and pinpoint his location. 

_There._

_Found him._

She closed her eyes and concentrated. On his face, his voice, his smell, the kindness in his eyes...

_Oliver. Oliver. Oliver._

She felt a jolt go through her. Felt herself come apart, then back together, in a flash. And before she even opened her eyes, she knew. 

She was with him. 

* * *

Felicity took in the scene in front of her, but she couldn’t quite comprehend it. 

She was in an office. In a high rise building, judging by the view through the smashed floor-to-ceiling windows. Two unconscious men were on the ground and an older woman was on her knees behind the desk, lines of desperation etched on her face. She clutched a photo frame and was pleading with the man in front of her. 

Oliver. 

Who was dressed in a green leather hood and was aiming a bow and arrow at the woman. 

A frakking bow and arrow!

He glanced at Felicity, his eyes widening slightly in surprise, and she waved meekly at him. But their attention was immediately pulled back to the woman begging for her life, “Please, don’t take me from my children,” she sobbed. “They lost their father. They can’t lose me too. Please, whoever you are. Please.”

Felicity glanced at the photo and saw a younger Oliver posing with a brunette girl - Thea. This was his mother! He was threatening his own mother. 

No wonder he felt conflicted!

“Okay,” Oliver said, the words sounding gentle despite the gruff, modulated tones of his voice-changer. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Felicity relaxed as she watched Oliver lower his weapon. But just at that instant, the woman - his mother! - reached behind her and pulled out a gun.

Felicity reacted. 

Whilst part of her was very aware that in her current state she was next to useless in a fight, there was a larger part of her that needed to act. It was almost instinctual: Oliver was in danger, so she went for the gun. 

The first shot rang out just as Felicity reached the woman. She grabbed the arm with the gun and…contact was made. Instead of passing _through_ her, Felicity… _merged_ with her. Her flesh was now Felicity’s to control. 

Like a meat puppet.

Gagging slightly at the thought, Felicity managed to yank the other woman’s arm up just as the second shot was fired. She kept the arm raised as Oliver ducked and rolled, then leapt out of the broken window. 

Heart in her throat, Felicity raced to the window to watch him rappel down the side of the building, anchored by the arrow piercing the concrete to her left. There was no sign of blood, and he appeared unhurt, his body moving gracefully down to the street below.

She sighed in relief. 

He was safe.

But he had some explaining to do. 


	7. Chapter 7

Oliver’s bike skidded to a stop in front of the Foundry’s entrance, the loose gravel forming a small arc as it was kicked up by the rear tyre. He swung his leg over the seat and flicked back his hood in a single movement, but was brought up short by the small blond suddenly standing in front of him.

“Everything about you just became so unbelievably clear,” Felicity shook her head in amazement.

He swept passed her without a word, entered the passcode for the door, then jogged down the stairs.

Her nervous babble followed him. “Well, sort of. I mean, I knew you had secrets, what with the injuries and the secret packages and the whole ‘grrr’ thing you have going on…” He glanced back at her as her voice trailed off. Her hands, which she’d shaped into claws, drifted down to her sides as she slowly spun to take in his base of operations.

“But this?” she continued in a whisper, “This Robin Hood thing? I did not see _this_ coming.”

“I am _not_ Robin Hood,” he growled, as he whipped off his quiver and unzipped his jacket. Her gaze briefly detoured to his bare chest before she snapped her eyes up to meet his. “No, you’re the Hood – the one that’s always on the news.”

He frowned and looked away, bracing himself for her reaction. For her disgust and fear.

What he was doing under that hood was important - he truly believed that. But the fact remained, he was a killer. He’d killed a lot of people since coming back to Starling.

And now she knew it.

She knew, because she’d caught him with an arrow aimed at his own _mother_.

He’d never wanted Felicity to discover this side of him...

The sound of heavy boots bounding down the stairs scattered his thoughts. “Are you okay?” Digg asked, as he came into view. “There was a report of gunshots being fired at QC.”

“That was my mom. Luckily, she missed,” Oliver replied just as Felicity piped up, “Diggle is involved in this too?”

He shot her a pleading look, hoping she’d take the hint and be quiet - he could only handle one conversation at a time.

“Your mom shot at you?” Digg asked.

“She was scared, Digg. She was defending herself.”

“Or she was hiding something. Like her involvement in Walter’s disappearance - or worse.”

He should have known Digg would use this as more ammunition in his case against her. “We don’t always know why people do what they do,” he responded, getting angry. “But what I do know is that when I was standing in her office, with an arrow aimed at her heart, she _begged_ me to spare her, all on behalf of me and Thea.”

Diggle just looked at him impassively. And he saw Felicity out of the corner of his eye watching the conversation intently, her bottom lip trapped in her teeth.

“Now I have taken down a _lot_ of bad people,” he continued, shaking his head. “None of them brought up their kids, Digg.”

“Oliver, she had the list. Now she may not be in charge of what _it_ is, but she’s definitely involved-”

“Involved in what?” Oliver asked, through gritted teeth. “We don’t even know what _it_ is. And until we do, my mother is off limits.” He glared at the older man, “Am I clear?”

Diggle took a deep breath and hitched his shoulders, before nodding in agreement. “But Oliver are you saying this because you truly believe she’s innocent? Or you don’t want to face the fact that you’re mother might be guilty?”

With that parting shot, he headed back up the stairs.

The sound of a shaky exhale brought Oliver’s attention back to the other occupant of the room. Felicity was staring at him in concern, but he wasn’t fooled for a second - she was practically vibrating with the need to launch questions at him.

“Just ask, Felicity,” he sighed.

She opened her mouth. Then closed it. Started to speak, and stopped again. She shook her head, “I don’t even know where to start.”

He tried deflection. “How about we start with how you managed to find me tonight - twice?”

That seemed to throw her. “I-I don’t know,” she stuttered, and he could hear the dishonesty in her words. “It’s not important. You’re the one with the more interesting secrets, I say we start with you.”

Oliver chose to ignore her lie about her new-found power - for now - because she was right. He was the one who needed to come clean. 

But where to start? And how much to tell? He had so many secrets…and each one was a black mark on his soul. A stain of darkness and guilt.

“I’m not judging, Oliver,” she said softly. “I just want to understand.”

He glanced at her, confused by her words, and by the patience and…kindness he saw in her eyes. He nodded absently, then walked over to the workstation where the notebook was kept. He absently rifled through the pages as he explained in stilted sentences the origin of his crusade. “My Dad…was not a good man. He confessed things to me, about the people who run Starling behind the scenes.” He flipped the notebook around to show her the names, “These people, they’re a poison, corrupting this city for their own benefit. My Dad wished…he wished he’d had more time to right his wrongs and stop these people. But he didn’t.” He raised his eyes, to meet hers. “So now it’s my responsibility.”

She looked at him, brow furrowed. Then she formed a bow and arrow with her hands, “And this?”

“I learned some things on the island. Skills that have come in handy.”

“And tonight, with your mom?” she asked carefully, obviously remembering the way he’d snapped at Diggle, “What was that about?”

Oliver sighed, suddenly feeling beyond tired. He leaned against the bench behind him and gripped the edge with both hands. With his gaze fixed on the floor between his boots, he laid out the evidence of his mother’s possible involvement.

“But you believe she’s innocent.”

Oliver scrubbed his hands over his face then brought them around to rest on his neck. “I have to believe that,” he whispered. “She’s my mom, Felicity. If she had something to do with the boat going down…I don’t know how I’d forgive that.”

Felicity was quiet for long minutes. She wandered around the lair, passing her fingers through the arrows lined up on the racks, before she stopped at his bow, discarded on a table. She traced over its edges with one finger, “This has killed a lot of people,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“ _I’ve_ killed a lot of people, you mean.”

“Is it worth it? This mission, this crusade? Is it worth all the collateral damage?”

“I only target the guilty, Felicity. I don’t intentionally endanger the innocent – I’m doing all of this to protect them.”

“I wasn’t talking about that type of collateral damage. I meant, is it worth what it’s doing to _you_ – the blood on your hands, the secrets, the isolation? Is this the kind of life you’re father would want for you?”

He shook his head slightly. “I don’t know how to answer that. And it doesn’t really matter. I’m doing what has to be done.”

She looked at him intently, as if searching him for answers beyond the truth of what he’d revealed. But their silent impasse was soon interrupted by a bleep from his phone. He checked the display and saw a text from Thea.

“I need to go check on my mom – she’s home now with the police.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Okay. I guess…I’ll see you back at my place.”

Before she could blink out, he called to her, “Felicity?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” he stretched his hand out towards her, “For saving my life tonight.” 

She looked almost embarrassed for a moment, but then stepped closer and matched his movement, the palm of her hand hovering against his in the oddest version of a handshake ever.

Oliver knew it was crazy, but he swore he could feel the warmth of her skin…

“Anytime,” she whispered.

* * *

Oliver picked up an escrima stick and twirled it to loosen his wrist. He started striking it against the Wing Chun dummy in a practised routine. With each repetition, the impact got harder and the pace quickened. Soon his arms were a blur and the heavy clacking of stick against wood rang out through the foundry.

Unable to sustain the brutal, punishing rhythm, he stopped, panting with the exertion, sweat dripping down his chest to pool at the waistband of this cargo pants. 

“You might want to take it easy if you plan on crossing someone off that list tonight,” Digg called out from his seat in front of the computer terminal.

“This is me taking it easy,” Oliver replied as he threaded one of the sticks through the bar of the dummy and snapped it in half. He felt on edge tonight. Jumpy, and on the brink of anger.

And the reason for his sour mood was staring at him from her perch on the medical table.

Felicity was here.

Again.

He’d descended the stairs from the club entrance earlier this evening to find her waiting for him at the bottom. Her crossed arms projected defiance, but the effect was undercut by the nervous look in her eyes and the lip caught between her teeth.

They hadn’t spoken since their previous confrontation. He’d used the excuse of a mother in danger, and a late night to stay in his old room at Queen Mansion, rather than return to the apartment.

Cowardly, maybe. But necessary. He hadn’t felt up to answering more questions about his vigilante lifestyle. And knowing Felicity, she had a lot of questions.

Which she’d proven the moment his feet had hit the foundry floor. “What’s on the agenda tonight?” she’d asked.

He’d answered her question with one of his own as he’d edged passed her to the workout area, “Why are you here?”

“You honestly expected me to sit in a boring apartment when you have an actual _lair_ I could be haunting?”

“It would have been my preference,” he’d said sharply, “But it’s not like I can stop you.”

“Exactly,” she’d grinned. 

She’d watched him warm up on the training mat for a while, following the movement of his body as he loosened his muscles and got his blood pumping. When she finally spoke again, her voice had been tentative and quiet, “I guess I wanted to see what it is you do down here. So I can understand it better.”

He’d pressed his lips together but hadn’t answered her. Instead he’d started beating the dummy like it had secrets to reveal. 

He didn’t like the feeling that he was being…evaluated. That she was gathering evidence to pass judgement on him. How could she possibly ever understand what he was doing? She was so…innocent. 

And he was a killer.

Maybe that wasn’t fair to her. Maybe he was projecting his own deep-seated doubts and guilt about his actions…

Either way, his emotions were in turmoil. He needed a distraction. He needed a target. 

“So who's the unlucky guy tonight?” Digg asked, as Oliver started suiting up. 

He explained to him (and Felicity) about Ken Williams and the pyramid scheme that had stolen millions. “People didn’t just lose their homes, their lives were ruined.” He may have been laying it on a bit thick, trying to sell himself as the avenging Robin Hood figure he’d denied being. “Why don’t you call it in early tonight, I’m not expecting much trouble,” Oliver told Digg as he grabbed his bow. As he passed Felicity on his way to the stairs, he whispered to her under his breath, “You, stay here.”

* * *

She wasn't great at taking orders, apparently.

Maybe that rebellious streak was a left-over trait from her former life. Or, maybe, being dead (and therefore invulnerable) gave her the courage to buck authority. 

Either way, she didn’t stay put after Oliver left. 

He’d looked so…angry as he’d stalked out of the lair. And she had a bad feeling that anger would get Oliver - or the people around him - hurt. When he’d described this ‘crusade’ to her, he’d been dispassionate; his father’s - and possibly his mother’s - involvement in the shady underworld of Starling City obviously hurt him, but the names in the notebook, they were just targets to be crossed out. They shouldn’t have evoked such high emotion in him.

She had a feeling she was to blame for that.

So she had an obligation to ensure his altered mindset didn’t interfere with the mission. Or, at least, that was her justification for following Oliver to a detached five bedroom house on the outskirts of Starling. There was possibly a small part of her that wanted to see him in action. She still had trouble reconciling the Oliver she knew - the kind, sweet Oliver she lived with - and the ruthless, cold-blooded ‘Hood’.

Keeping herself out of sight, she crept after him as he silently entered the house through the sliding patio door. After clearing the room, he headed to the door at the end of the hall, where light was seen spilling out from the crack at the bottom. 

But Felicity hesitated. She could…feel…someone upstairs. Lately, she’d become attuned to those around her, as if her insubstantial state acted like a vacuum, drawing awareness of the living to her. 

Before she could change her mind, she quickly darted up the stairway to the second floor. The door opposite the landing was slightly ajar, and the room beyond was lit by the soft glow of a night-light. 

It was a child’s room. 

Felicity gasped as she took in the little boy asleep on the bed, an Iron Man duvet pooling around his feet. 

Did Oliver know Ken Williams was a father?

Felicity turned to leave, but her gaze was caught by the photo on the night-stand. It was of the boy and a woman - obviously his mother, judging by the similar colouring - both smiling brightly. But the inscription on the frame sent icy chills through her heart:

_Lara Williams, 1973 - 2011_

His mother was dead.

And his father…

Felicity blinked to Oliver’s side, just in time to see him raise his bow and point an arrow at the man cowering behind his desk. “Ken Williams. You have failed this city!”

“No!” Felicity shouted, as she once again acted without conscious thought or hesitation. She stepped into Oliver’s body and raised his bow arm high. But the unexpected weight of the weapon and the tension in the string caused her to let the arrow fly. Williams let out an unmanly squeak as the arrow arced over his head and embedded in the wall behind him. 

“Felicity what the hell are you doing?” Oliver roared. The unexpected noise jolted Felicity back out of his body. He pinned her with a look as he crowded close, using his height to intimidate her.

But she wouldn’t back down. Or apologise. She squared her shoulders and tipped up her head. “He has a son, Oliver! And his wife died. You can’t orphan that little boy upstairs!”

A shrieking alarm startled them both. While they’d been arguing, Wiliams had managed to crawl away and trip some kind of security system. The whole house was now lit up like a beacon and a blaring noise echoed into the night. 

Oliver swore and ran for the exit, all thought of stealth forgotten in the rush to outrun the cops who were sure to be on their way. Felicity followed him, unwilling to leave while he was in danger - while she had _put_ him in danger. 

But her guilt over her actions was outweighed by her anger and…disappointment in Oliver. When they were a safe distance from the house, he stopped to catch his breath, and she turned on him. “I made a mistake.”

“Getting in my way,” he growled, “I don’t disagree.”

“No!” she yelled, “For believing in you! So much for protecting the innocent.” Just as she blinked away, she caught a flicker of hurt in his eyes.

* * * 

Oliver unlocked the apartment door, but paused before entering. He could hear the sound of the TV coming from the living room, but it didn’t guarantee Felicity’s presence. 

And he needed her to be there.

He needed to apologise. He needed to explain.

The words she’d left him with in that field behind Ken Williams house…they’d gutted him. He hadn’t truly realised how much her opinion meant to him.

He knew he didn’t deserve it, but having someone like her believe in him, believe that he was a good man…it was like a patch over the cracks in his soul. It gave him a flicker of hope that he could someday, somehow, be more than he was right now. 

Be more than a killer. 

More than a broken man.

He needed to make this right. 

He pushed open the door and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her sitting on the couch. But she didn’t acknowledge him in any way, just stared, unseeing, at the news report on the TV.

Gathering his courage, he walked around to sit on the small coffee table in front of her. “Felicity?”

She met his eyes, but didn’t say a word. _The silent treatment,_ Oliver thought, with a hint of irritation. But that was fine - he was the one who needed to do the talking, after all. “Felicity, what you saw tonight…I want you to know, I was never planning to kill that man. I was only there to give a warning. I-I need you to believe me that I don’t do…this…to hurt innocent people.”

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and nodded slightly. He exhaled shakily before continuing, “And I want to apologise for yelling at you - I was worked up on adrenaline, but I should have realised you were just trying to do the right thing.”

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry too. I put you in danger by doing…that.”

“What was _that_ exactly? You did the same to my mom the other night,” he asked as he moved from the table to the couch. 

She turned to face him, bringing one leg up on the couch. “I don’t know. And I can’t seem to do it at any other time. I guess it’s the adrenaline, like you said. It lets me…take control of someone briefly.”

“Well it felt really weird having you inside me,” he responded with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood a little. 

It worked. She blushed and laughed as she looked away from him. But then her attention was caught by the news bulletin - a story about someone called ‘The Dodger’. “Oliver, has it ever occurred to you, that you could do some real good in the city - beyond just recovering people’s stock portfolios and their saving accounts.”

Off his look, she gestured to the news report, “Look at this guy. He’s a thief who uses hostages to do his stealing for him.”

“How?” Oliver asked, intrigued.

“He puts a bomb collar around their necks. Apparently a guy last year in Spain didn’t cooperate and he took his head off - literally.” She threw him a challenging look, “Too bad his name’s not in your notebook…”

Oliver felt a spark of excitement. Here was his opportunity to show Felicity what he could do. “Not all of the people I target are on the list. Every once in a while I make an exception – like The Count.”

“That was you?” she asked, sounding impressed.

“And you,” he admitted, “Your idea of analysing the drug helped us track his hideout.”

She smiled and adjusted her glasses, a give away he recognised. She was embarrassed, but pleased. 

“So lets taken down this jewel thief,” Oliver offered.

“Yeah?” she asked with excitement. 

“Yeah,” he grinned.

“Okay,” she said, practically bouncing up and down, “Where do we start?”


	8. Chapter 8

“This is not exactly what I had in mind,” Felicity said, as she looked around the busy diner. “Is this really how you guys figure out how to get your targets? Over burgers and shakes?”

Oliver tried to concentrate on explaining the Dodger case to Digg, but he was distracted by Felicity’s questions. She was sitting opposite him in the booth (next to an oblivious Digg), and the bemused expression on her face made him want to laugh. 

Her expression turned to outright longing when Carly served him and Digg their orders of piled-high burgers and fries. His mouth watered at the smell and Felicity let out a pained sigh, “That looks soooo good. I miss Big Belly.”

He mouthed a silent apology to her before biting into the juicy burger. All talk of bomb collars and jewels was then put on hold as the two men demolished their meals. Felicity filled the silence by recounting a newly discovered memory of a college dare involving Big Belly Burgers, a couple of football players, and the campus security computer, “…because, seriously, anyone with boobs can get a Frat Boy to do anything,” she finished.

Unfortunately, Oliver had just taken a sip of Coke and her words, combined with the sexy smirk on her lips, caused him to inhale the liquid.

Felicity burst out laughing as Carly hurried over to the table. “Are you okay?” she asked in concern, as Oliver attempted to get his coughing under control.

He shot Felicity a quelling look, as he wiped his mouth with a napkin, “Yeah. Just went down the wrong way.”

As Digg and Carly chatted, Felicity watched them with curious eyes. “Is that his girlfriend?”

Oliver shook his head discreetly, then turned to the older man after Carly was called away to another table. “Digg, you should ask her out,” he coaxed. 

Digg leaned back in the booth and crossed his arms. “I will, as soon as you tell me about this girl you’re seeing.”

Felicity whipped her head around to look at Oliver, a frown of confusion on her face. Oliver studiously avoided her gaze. “I told you,” he replied lightly, “There’s nothing to tell.”

Digg looked unimpressed by his attempt to avoid the question. “Fine,” he grumbled as he got out of the booth. “Keep your secrets.” 

“So what’s the plan for the Dodger?” Felicity asked. Oliver, relieved that she wasn’t following up on Digg’s question, glanced around to make sure no one was looking before replying, “This guy’s targeting a very specific type of jewel. We figure out _why_ , and that’ll give us the _how_ to catch him.”

Felicity pursed her lips and nodded, deep in thought. “I have an idea,” she said after a few moments. “If you can find an excuse to go to the police station, I can tag along and haunt around a bit - I’ve gotten very good at eavesdropping - and boom! I’ll learn everything they know.”

It was a good idea, but... “That’s not typically how I get my information.”

“How do you _typically_ do it?”

“I find the person, then I put the fear of God into them until they talk.”

Felicity raised both eyebrows in surprise. Oliver wasn’t sure why he admitted that. Maybe he was subconsciously testing her. Checking that she was still okay with this newly discovered side of him. Pushing her to discover her limits…

Or maybe he just liked messing with her. “But we can try your way,” he added with a wink.

“Did you say something, man?” Digg asked, and Oliver hoped he hadn’t been standing there long. It was getting harder to remember that he was the only one who could see and talk to Felicity. Which meant he was at serious risk of looking like a mad man every time he was caught having a one-sided conversation with thin air. 

“Nope,” Oliver responded as he shrugged into his jacket. “Let’s head out. I’m going to drop by the station to see if they have anything on our jewel thief.”

* * *

“I thought you gave up crime fighting,” McKenna remarked as Oliver sauntered up to her desk. 

“What?” he spluttered. _Had she figured out who he was?_ He tensed and subtly checked the exit for a quick retreat – but it was blocked by two officers. 

And Felicity. “She’s obviously joking, Oliver. Try not to look so guilty.” 

McKenna spoke at the same time, “Well, after the business with your sister and Vertigo...I figured you’d stay out of police precincts.”

Oliver laughter shakily. “I saw you on the news and I realised I never thanked you for everything that you did, so…thank you.”

McKenna smiled, but Oliver was once again distracted by Felicity’s commentary. “ _This_ is your excuse to get us in here? She’s going to think you’re flirting with her!”

Oliver tried to ignore her. “So you got promoted…”

McKenna’s smile widened. “Yep. Major crimes - and they assigned me to the Dodger case.”

 _Perfect_ , Oliver thought. “How’s that going?”

“Slow,” she held up a finger for him to wait then walked over to another desk to drop off a file. 

Oliver took the opportunity to hiss at Felicity under his breath, “Stop distracting me.”

“Well come up with a better story next time,” she hissed back at him. “You kind of suck at this undercover thing.”

He glared at her but quickly pasted on a congenial smile when McKenna returned to her desk. “It was nice seeing you - the last time that I saw you.”

She matched his smile. “Yeah it was good seeing you too - it was like old times.”

“Old times?” Felicity asked from behind him. 

“Except the PG version,” McKenna continued.

Felicity groaned and muttered under her breath, “She’s an ex. Of course, she’s an ex. And now she’s definitely flirting back.”

That was Oliver’s cue to leave. He liked McKenna. And maybe under different circumstances, he’d attempt to rekindle something with her. But, it didn’t feel right. And he refused to explore why that might have something to do with the blond standing behind him. “Well. Okay,” he said, as he started moving towards the exit. “I’m gonna go. I’ve gotta go...um, to the dentist.”

McKenna looked confused. Felicity just rolled her eyes, “Smooth, Oliver.” 

He shot her a warning look as he left and she responded with a mock salute. 

* * *

“Police stations are boring,” Felicity announced as she materialised in the foundry three hours later. She hadn’t known what to expect exactly. But she’d been _hoping_ to maybe see Captains yelling at their detectives for being ‘loose canons’, cops rushing to the door as a case broke, maybe even a couple of hookers having a cat-fight. But she’d just sat around for hours watching overweight men (and pretty, young Detective McKenna) make phone calls from behind their desks. 

Utterly disappointing. 

“Felicity,” Oliver whispered to get her attention back on the case. He was standing with his arms crossed, staring at the news report on the computer monitor. Digg was cleaning his gun over by the training area where he luckily couldn’t overhear Oliver talking to her – well, talking to himself. 

“Right.” She shook off the unimportant thoughts and got her head back in the game. “They did eventually get a lead on our thief. There was a murder at an art gallery - apparently the same MO as the other cases. Get this,” she said with a smile, “Turned out the guy was a fence.” 

“So he was trying to unload the ruby he’d stolen from the museum.”

“Yep. Which means he’ll be in the market for another fence. You know one that he hasn't already…” she drew a line across her neck with a finger - the universal gesture for murder. 

He nodded decisively. “So we find the fence, and we find the dodger.”

Oliver called out to Digg to let him know they had a lead, and Felicity shook her head at his latest lame attempt at lying. _Really, Oliver? You’re gonna pretend McKenna just phoned to tell you this?_.

She then took a step closer to the workstation, drawn by the computer system set up there. The configuration seemed…outdated somehow. And for some reason she was itching to get her fingers on the keyboard. Did she used to work in an office?

That seemed so…mundane. 

But, then again, anything would seem mundane in comparison to her current job – ghost spy for a secret vigilante crime-fighting team. She grinned - she was really starting to enjoy being a part of this. Granted, she had limited skills and only one other member of the team was aware of her existence…but she didn’t care. This felt…right. 

It felt like she was making a difference. 

She couldn’t care less about protecting rich people’s jewelry, but if she helped stop some innocent person from getting bomb-collared, then it was worth it. How horrible must that be, to have a bomb around your neck that could blow at any moment? To know your fate rested on the trigger finger of a mad man. Did they get any warning before the device detonated? Or were they simply alive one moment, dead the next?

She shuddered and, not for the first time, wondered how she’d met her end? Had she been sick? In an accident, maybe? Or had she been murdered? 

And if so, had someone tried to save her? 

She turned to Oliver, and contemplated him as he methodically donned his leather armour and hood. He’d killed a lot of people, that fact was undisputed. But how many had he saved, or tried to save? She may have been thrown by the revelation of his alter-ego, but her opinion of him hadn’t changed. She still believed he was a good man. His methods might be extreme, and his motivations were mired in guilt and a misplaced sense of responsibility, but he still suited up night after night to take on the darkness infecting the city…

Only a very specific type of person would do that. 

A hero.

She just wished he could see that.

* * * 

Oliver stomped back into the Foundry, angry with the police, himself and that goddamned thief. If the SCPD had stayed out of it, he could have taken out the Dodger with a single covert arrow. Instead, they’d charged in guns blazing and sparked a massive gunfight, allowing the Dodger to escape to the alley outside. When Oliver had confronted him - the element of surprise gone - the Dodger had managed to distract him with an explosive.

Oliver slammed his bow down on the desk, tipped his head back and let out a sigh of frustration. _This_ is why the city needed a vigilante. 

Felicity tentatively approached him. “I take it things didn’t go to plan.”

“He threw ones of his bomb collars at me,” Oliver gritted out.

“What?” Felicity and Diggle responded, both with some confusion – Diggle, because he hadn’t actually asked Oliver what had happened, and Felicity because she didn’t realise…

“It exploded,” he clarified.

“Oh,” Felicity replied. Then her eyes widened. “Oh! Are you okay?”

He nodded to her quickly before turning to face Digg. “The police busted up the meet before the Dodger could get paid.”

“So we find another fence.”

“Maybe…” Oliver’s voice trailed off as a new plan started to form.

“What are you thinking?”

“We know the dodger has a taste for a very specific type of antiquity-”

“Yes,” Felicity interrupted, “From the Ominous Decade.”

“What?” Oliver asked.

“What?” Diggle echoed, looking perplexed.

“I saw the police files,” Felicity quickly explained. “Everything he’s stolen has been from the Ominous Decade - the last 10 years of King Ferdinand’s reign.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Okay, that’s something to go on.”

“Oliver…” Digg said, with some concern. “Are you sure you didn’t get your bell rung by that explosion?”

“I’m fine, Digg.”

“Then why are you talking to yourself?”

Oliver winced. He kept forgetting that Diggle had no idea Felicity was here. She already seemed like such a vital member of the team, and it felt natural to bounce ideas off her.

“I’m fine,” he repeated. Then, changing the subject, he added, “So we know the Dodger likes stuff from the Ominous…thing.”

“Decade,” Felicity supplied.

“Decade,” Oliver corrected.

“We do?” Digg asked.

“Yeah. Um, McKenna told me.”

Digg looked sceptical, but then shook his head, visibly letting it go. “So you’re thinking we need bait.”

“Yes - to lure him out into the open.” Oliver quickly brought up an electronic flyer on one of the computer screens and pointed to it. “One of my mom’s charities is holding an auction tomorrow night. We donate one of these jewels for the auction, and he won’t be able to resist.”

Digg nodded in agreement of the plan, but Felicity glanced at him in confusion, “Where are you going to get your hands on a rare Spanish antiquity?”

* * *

Oliver was rich.

Like, super rich. Mark Zuckerberg meets Bill Gates rich.

Felicity was aware her mouth was hanging open but she couldn’t help it. Since the moment Oliver had driven them up to the gates of Queen Mansion, she’d become the literal embodiment of flabbergasted.

His house was enormous – hence the ‘Mansion’ part – and looked like a medieval fortress! And it was even grander on the inside, with a sweeping staircase and high ceilings and priceless art on the walls...

But Oliver was oblivious to it all. As she spun around gawking at her surroundings, he marched straight up the stairs. Running to catch up to him, she blurted out, “Why on earth did you leave this for my pokey little apartment?”

He stopped and looked at her, taken aback by the question. Then she could almost see his mask of indifference slide into place. “I had my reasons,” he said tersely. And she realised he wasn’t annoyed at the question, so much as the fact that she’d asked it.

She’d never directly questioned him about his experiences on the island or his obvious PTSD. Everything he’d told her so far had been at his discretion - he decided when he’d share and how much he’d tell her.

And that was fair.

 _So no more thoughtless questions_ , Felicity decided.

She gave him an apologetic look, then changed the subject. “So where are these jewels hidden?”

“In here.” He led her into a beautiful library. Floor-to-celling bookshelves, crammed with hundreds – maybe even thousands of books - lined the walls, broken up only by a huge fireplace opposite the door. Felicity sighed. She could spend many happy hours in a chair in front of that fire, book in hand.

But that’s not why there were here.

Oliver headed straight for the bookcase to the right of the fireplace. He skimmed a finger over the titles on the lowest shelf until he found the book he was looking for. Tugging it from it’s spot, she heard a mechanical whir, as the whole bookcase swung out and around to reveal a secret cast-iron safe.

“Oh, that is very cool,” she breathed.

He grinned at her over his shoulder, and she saw the echo of the mischievous little boy he must have been. “Tommy and I used to play with this all the time – we’d pretend to be James Bond, trying to infiltrate Blofeld’s lair.”

She smiled at the thought. Then gasped as he unlocked the safe to reveal stacks of velvet-lined boxes, all no doubt containing priceless jewels. She hurried closer to have a look as he searched for the one he needed. She saw rubies, and diamonds and sapphires. Necklaces and rings and even a tiara!

Finally he came across a broach, set with stunning blue topaz. “This is the one, right?” he asked. She nodded – they’d checked the Queen Family inventory against the online archives of the Ominous Decade jewels earlier and had discovered this piece.

Oliver quickly pocketed it, closed up the safe and the super-cool bookcase, then strode from the room. She hurried after him as he entered a bedroom across the hall from the library. “I need to get changed,” he explained. “All my good suits are still here.”

So this was his room.

It suited him, in as much as he was male, and this was a very masculine room. But there was nothing of Oliver here. Nothing to tell her who he was – or, at least, who he used to be, before a shipwrecked had destroyed his life. Disappointed by the lack of trophies on display or tacky teenage posters on the wall, Felicity wandered over to the bay window to admire the view of the gardens.

Oliver selected a dark suit from the rail of similar dark suits in his wardrobe, then entered the _en suite_ to change. “I’ll be five minutes,” he said, as he closed the door. 

True to his word, he emerged soon after in a perfectly tailored designer suit with a matching black tie. As he adjusted his cuffs and selected his shoes, she took the opportunity to devour him with her eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything but jeans, leather or sweats, and the effect was mesmerising.

He was gorgeous.

Sharp and sexy and dangerous - like the secret agent he used to emulate.

She swallowed a bolt of lust. Then heard a faint chuckle. Raising her eyes to his face, she realised he was smiling at her with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

 _Busted_.

“You ready to go?” he asked.

She looked down at the same black skirt and blue shirt she’d been wearing for weeks and sighed, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Hey,” he said softly, “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, and avoided his eyes as she headed for the bedroom door.

“Fel-ic-ity,” he coaxed. “What is going on with you? And don’t say it’s-”

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t say it’s nothing,” he said, raising his voice over hers.

She sighed and shook her head again, “It’s really not a big deal. I’m just sick of wearing this,” she gestured to her boring outfit. “You look all fancy, and we’re going to a fancy place, and I just…”

“You wanted to look fancy, too.”

“Crazy, right? It’s not like anyone will see me. But I remember loving clothes, especially nice dresses. I shopped - a lot - and I loved wearing different colours every day…” She ducked her head. “It’s silly. I shouldn’t complain.”

“Yes, you should.”

Her head whipped up at his fierce tone.

“Felicity, what you’ve been through, and what you’re _going_ through, is beyond imagining. You can’t remember who you are, you can’t interact with the world around you…You have every right to be angry and upset and complain about that - but you never have. So if you want to grumble about missing burgers, and red wine, and pretty dresses, go right ahead. I’ll never think less of you.’ He shook his head in wonder. “In fact...I think you’re remarkable, Felicity.”

“Thank you for remarking on it,” she whispered, adjusting her glasses with a shaky hand.

He smiled and swept his hand towards the door. “Now let’s go catch an international jewel thief.”

She matched his gesture, “After you, Mr. Bond.”

* * *

Oliver deposited the jewellery with the auctioneer, then gestured for Felicity to follow him in a slow walk around the crowded ballroom. 

Now that the broach was out of their hands, she was starting to get a little nervous about this plan. “Have you given any thought to what might happen if this doesn’t work, and the Dodger absconds with your family jewels?” she asked.

Oliver paused and gave her a strange look. Replaying the question in her head, she closed her eyes and winced at the innuendo. “Sorry, that came out very wrong.”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “Lets just keep our eyes open, Felicity.”

Taking his advice, she inspected the room. Tables and place settings were laid out, but the guests were still busy mingling with cocktails in hand, the men in their suits and tuxedoes and the women in gorgeous frocks. As they moved around the room, the sequinned dressed and jewels sparkled under the lights of the chandeliers. 

One dress in particular caught her attention. “I spy with my _open eyes_ a certain detective over there,” she pointed out McKenna, who looked beautiful in a floor-length purple gown. If it weren’t for Oliver’s kind words in the mansion earlier she would have felt very inferior in her practical polyester shirt and flats. 

Oliver followed her gaze and nodded, “Looks like the police took the bait too.”

“Are you going to go talk to her?” she asked carefully, trying not to sound affected by the thought. There had been a spark of…something…between McKenna and Oliver in the police station. They obviously had a past (an NC-17 past by the sounds of it), and it was clear the detective was eager to revisit it. 

But Oliver shook his head. “No. McKenna’s in the past.” He looked at Felicity then, as if willing her to understand the meaning behind his words. “And I’m content to leave her there.”

“Okay,” she whispered, feeling flustered at the way he was…gazing at her. Luckily, a distraction arrived in the form of a dapper-looking bodyguard. 

“Perimeter’s clear, no sign of the Dodger,” Digg reported. “And there’s no sign of any decent security, either. I’ll man the exits in case he makes a run for it.”

“Good idea, Digg. I’ll stick to the main floor.”

“And I’ll go…haunt around over there.” Felicity told Oliver, gesturing in the direction they’d came.

When he nodded his agreement, she slowly started making her way back to the display cases housing the auction items, taking perverse satisfaction in the way the rich snobs around her shuddered and shivered as she walked through them.

Just as she reached the case marked with the Queen family name, she noticed a non-descript man boldly open the front and remove the broach.

This must be the dodger!

Or it was just some other opportunistic thief. 

Either way, she’d caught a bad guy!

Well, sort of. Said bad guy was currently walking towards the exit and she couldn’t exactly stop him! 

Unless…

Felicity tried to take control of him, figuring if she acted as puppet-master again she could cause him to make a scene and draw Oliver’s attention. But it wasn’t working! She kept slipping _through_ him, instead of _into_ him. 

She growled in frustration then blinked to Oliver’s side. “The Dodger took the bait!” she yelled, startling him into sloshing his drink. “He just left through that door,” she pointed it out to Oliver, who started moving in that direction. 

But they were both brought up short by the sight of Diggle rushing towards them, with fury in his eyes…and a bomb collar around his neck. 

* * *

The three of them quickly hustled into an empty office just off the ballroom, as Digg explained through gritted teeth, “Bastard tasered me while I was guarding the exit. Then he shoved this on me,” he gestured to his new accessory, “Said I’m his insurance - if the cops follow him he’ll detonate it.”

“Not gonna happen, Digg,” Oliver vowed. “I’ll find him and I’ll get him to disarm it.” He turned to Felicity. “Find him,” he growled, oblivious to the fact that Digg was in ear-shot. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Felicity nodded. She raced back through the ballroom, then down the stairs to the street outside, somehow able to move much quicker than the living bodies around her. She spotted her target just as he sped away from the curb, the car tyres squealing with the speed. 

“Felicity,” she heard Oliver yell, and she turned to see him barrel through the doors of the building. 

“He just left! He’s in a grey sedan heading that way,” she pointed down the street. 

Oliver nodded, then quickly scanned the surroundings. Spotting a motorbike he broke into a run. “I need your bike,” she heard him say to the big scary biker dude beside it. 

She didn’t catch biker-dude’s response, but it didn’t matter. Oliver sucker-punched the much taller man in the gut then sweeped his legs when he bent double. Felicity yelped at the speed of the assault, and realised this was the first time she’s seen Oliver fight. 

He shoved the helmet on, swung his leg over the seat and called out to her as he kick-started the engine, “Stay with Digg!” 

Then he was gone. 

Felicity spun on her heel and raced back into the building. She passed the ballroom where the auction was in full swing - the elite of Starling City bidding and drinking, clueless that a man’s life was at stake just yards away. 

The man in question was facing his reflection in the glass pane of the office window, and was in the process of using a paper clip to jimmy open the casing at the front of the collar.

“I really don’t think you should be messing with that, Digg,” Felicity cautioned as she crept towards him. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, but his hands were remarkably steady as he peeled away the plastic covering of the bomb.

“What’s your story?” she wondered, not for the first time. She knew he was a soldier - ex-Special Forces, according to Oliver. And it showed in his bearing - he was so capable, calm, and strong. 

But what intrigued her was his dedication to Oliver’s crusade. What made a man so accustomed to discipline and order throw in with a vigilante? The mission wasn’t personal for him, she knew that much. So why was he on the team? Was he disillusioned with the law? Was he looking to make a difference in the world? 

Or did he see the same thing she did in Oliver? A lost soul, who needed help and guidance. God, she would love to be able to talk to him! To get some answers and some insight…

Digg exhaled sharply, pulling her from her thoughts. He gave up on defusing the bomb and turned away from the window and the darkness beyond the glass. He pulled out his cell phone and Felicity came to his side to watch him bring up the contact details for Carly. But then he frowned, and continued scrolling to someone called ‘Lyla’.

His thumb hovered over the call button, and Felicity watched indecision war across his face. 

“Who’s Lyla?” she whispered. Obviously someone very important, if he was contemplating calling her during what could be his final moments on earth. 

“No, this is not goodbye,” Digg muttered fiercely, as he locked the phone and shoved it back in his pocket. 

“No, it’s not!” Felicity agreed. “Oliver will catch him, and he’ll stop him.” 

As Digg paced the floor of the office, fists clenched by his sides, Felicity raised her head to the sky and pleaded, “Please, Oliver.”

After several long, excruciating minutes, a beeping sound startled them both. Felicity gasped as she noticed the red light on the front of the bomb blink faster and faster. 

But then the light turned green. And, with a small click, the device unlocked and the two halves of the collar separated. “Oh, thank God,” she breathed as Digg ripped off the collar. He bent at the waist to grip his knees and took several deep breaths, straightening only when his phone started ringing.

“Oliver?” he answered.

Felicity couldn’t hear the response, but the way Digg’s shoulder’s relaxed assured her that Oliver was safe and well. 

“Yeah…Thanks…I’ll let the police know where to pick him up.” He gave a rueful laugh as he headed to the door, “Yeah a drink sounds really good right now.”

When Digg opened the door, the noise and bustle of the auction poured in, immediately breaking the tense, silent atmosphere of the office. Felicity took the first deep breath in what felt like hours, then pouted in the now deserted room, suddenly feeling abandoned. “I wouldn’t mind a drink…”

* * *

Felicity couldn’t stop smiling. 

And her good mood seemed infectious. She glanced at Oliver walking beside her and noticed that his perpetual scowl was gone. Without it, he looked younger, and…lighter...than she’d ever seen him. 

He looked as happy as she felt.

Tonight had been a rush - what with catching a bad guy red-handed, one of the team being threatened, and Oliver riding off to the rescue. But it wasn’t the excitement and adrenaline that Felicity had enjoyed. It was the sense of purpose that this mission had given her. She’d helped put a murdering thief in jail! The Dodger wouldn’t get his hands on any more innocent victims and no-one else would ever have to experience what Digg had gone through tonight. 

That helped give meaning to her life, or more accurately, her death.

And she loved the feeling of belonging to something greater than herself. She was part of a team! Sure, one-third of that team was oblivious to her input, but she knew Oliver valued her opinion and her contribution, and that was enough for her. 

Although, it would have been nice to join in with their banter tonight. She’d caught up to Oliver and Digg as they’d entered a bar a few blocks from her apartment. They’d taken a seat at one of the outdoor tables, the slightly humid air of the lingering summer allowing for nights spent under the stars. Additional stars had glittered all around them from the fairy lights adorning the surrounding trees. 

It was a magical place.

As Oliver and Digg had sipped their beers, she’d been content at first to sit and listen to them debrief the events of the evening and plan their next mission. But then the talk had turned more personal. As Digg shared about his disastrous date with Carly, and Oliver talked about Thea’s community service, Felicity had started to feel a little left out. She could have talked to Oliver, but she knew he found it difficult to hold two conversations at once without looking like a lunatic.

Luckily, before her good mood could sour, Oliver bid goodnight to Digg and the two of them began walking back to the apartment, Felicity with a smile on her face, and Oliver looking at peace with the world. 

“That was fun,” she remarked. Forgetting that she was incorporeal, she tried nudging his arm with hers, but ended up just drifting through him a little.

“It was,” he agreed. 

“You sound surprised.”

He didn’t speak for a few paces. “I didn't just lose five years on the island,” he explained, “I lost the part of me that enjoyed…being alive. That enjoyed having a drink with a buddy, and,” he glanced at her, “Spending the evening with a beautiful woman.”

Felicity blushed and ducked her head.

“The simple things…” he trailed off, suddenly sounding quite melancholy. 

“What?” she prompted gently. She was mindful of her earlier resolution not to push him into talking, but she sensed he wanted to share something with her. 

She was right. “The simple things have a way of reminding me sometimes of all the hard things - and the hard choices - that I had to make to survive. Those choices still stay with me.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders a little. “They make me question who I can trust, and,” he took a deep breath, “Even if I’m worthy of being with anyone.”

“Oliver,” she whispered, as they came to a stop outside her apartment building. She turned to face him, her heart breaking for how lost he sounded. “You are. You _are_ worthy. And you deserve to be with someone. You deserve so much more than this…isolated life you’re living.”

He didn’t respond. Just stepped closer and searched her eyes, as if looking for an answer to a question he was too scared to ask. 

Her breath caught at the intensity of his gaze. She swayed towards him-

“Sorry, mate, am I interrupting something?”

They both startled at the sound of the droll voice. Oliver whipped around and assumed a defensive stance in front of her, but then relaxed, obviously recognising the owner of the voice. “John,” he nodded in greeting.

Peeking over his shoulder, Felicity spotted a blond man in a battered trench coat leaning against a lamp post. He dropped the cigarette he was holding and ground out the spark with his shoe. To her surprise, he looked straight at her as he spoke to Oliver. “If I’d known you were keeping company with such a pretty girl, Oliver, I would have stopped by sooner.” 


	9. Chapter 9

“You can see me!” Felicity exclaimed.

“You can see her?” Oliver asked at the same time.

“Just glimpses,” Constantine answered, peering in Felicity’s direction. “She’s flickering on the edge of reality. And I can’t hear her, though I can see her mouth moving a mile-a-minute.”

It was true - Felicity had started babbling the moment the other man had acknowledged her existence. “This is amazing, Oliver. It means I’m real! Well, not really real, but it means I’m not some hyper-developed figment of your imagination.” She beamed up at him, “You’re not crazy, Oliver!”

He frowned at her, not having realised that had been a genuine concern of hers.

“So, what’s a bloke have to do to get a drink around here?” Constantine asked, drawing Oliver’s attention away from Felicity, whose brilliant smile had dimmed all of a sudden. _Why did she look so nervous?_

“I need something with a kick if we’re gonna do this tonight - jet-lag’s a bitch,” Constantine explained, heading for the entrance to the apartment.

Oliver followed him in silence and unlocked the door, a heavy knot of unease forming in his stomach. As the other man wandered around the living room, Oliver found a bottle of whiskey at the back of the cupboard and poured them both a generous serving. After passing Constantine his drink, Oliver stared into the dark liquid in his own glass, the knot in his gut preventing him from drinking.

This felt...wrong.

In all the upheaval and excitement of the past few weeks, he’d somehow managed to forget that Constantine was coming for one very specific reason.

To get rid of Felicity.

And that’s exactly what Oliver had wanted, at first. She’d been little more than an inconvenience, disrupting his life and messing with his head. Sure he’d felt sorry for her, but she was just a ghost. A ghost that needed to move on, and leave him alone.

But now…

She was _Felicity_.

She was light, and laughter, and joy. She was his friend - his closest friend.

And he’d arranged for an exorcist to erase her from this earth…

He could feel the panic emanating from him. He met Felicity’s eyes, and saw a mirror of his fear. The colour had drained from her face and she was biting her lip. When she noticed his gaze, she gave him a tremulous smile. “Guess this is goodbye,” she said lightly, in a vain attempt to put on a brave face.

_Goodbye?_

No, he couldn’t say goodbye. He couldn’t say goodbye to yet another person he cared about. He couldn't say goodbye to _her_.

This was wrong.

“This is wrong,” he whispered to himself. Then he spoke again - louder, clearer. “This is wrong.”

“Oliver,” Felicity said, shaking her head. “You said it yourself, I don’t belong here-”

“Are you telling me you want to leave?” he demanded.

She hesitated.

And that was all the reassurance he needed.

He turned to Constantine, who'd been watching the one-sided conversation while sipping his drink. “I appreciate you coming all this way John, but…” he trailed off. But what? What could he say? _I want to keep her around? Turns out I kind of like having this ghost in my life?_ Oliver shrugged his shoulders and repeated the phrase that was echoing like a mantra in his head, "This just feels wrong."

Constantine finished his drink with one last swig. "You're telling me, mate."

That wasn't the response Oliver was expecting. "Huh?"

Constantine didn’t reply. Instead he put his glass down on the bookcase beside him, tucked his hands in his pockets and slowly circled around the space Felicity occupied, a puzzled look on his face. “There’s something off here.”

“What do you mean?”

“This girl…she’s one of the most alive spirits I’ve ever encountered.” He shook his head, then met Oliver’s eyes. “I don’t think she’s dead.”

* * *

_Not dead._

_Not dead._

The refrain repeated in Felicity’s head, drowning out the voices of the two men in front of her.

_Not. Dead._

A small smile of tentative hope formed on her lips.

But what did it mean exactly? Was her body out walking around without a soul, like some weird existential zombie? Could that even happen? And how would they fix something like that?

She was jolted from her thoughts when a spray of amber liquid hit her. Or rather, went through her.

“Hey!” she complained. Constantine was standing in front of her, an empty vial in his hands and a contemplative look on his face. “What was that for?”

Oliver echoed the question.

“That was Frankincense. It’s used to sense the presence of malevolent forces.”

“Felicity’s not malevolent,” Oliver growled, taking a step towards the other man.

“Yeah,” Felicity agreed. “Although, I’ll _show_ him malevolent if he does that again.”

Constantine put his hands up, “No offence intended, mate. Just needed to check.”

“Check what exactly?”

“There’s not many things that can separate a soul from its body, but a demon’s one of them-"

“Demon?” Felicity whispered, feeling a cold chill go down her spine.

"Powerful mage'll do it as well," he continued, oblivious to Felicity's distress. "Had a case of one of those last year in Brooklyn. I used this," he gestured to the empty vial, "Because Frankincense flees the presence of malevolent energy."

Oliver looked worried. “But the frankincense didn’t go anywhere. That means there's no...demons or mages involved, right?”

“Right. But to be sure, I’ll need to examine the body.”

Oliver and Felicity looked at each other.

Constantine frowned. “You do know where the body is, don’t you?”

* * *

_"No, I think that apartment was vacant."_

_"There was a woman living there?"_

_"Oh yeah. I think there was someone down there but she was totally antisocial, you know. Kind of like a cat lady, but without any cats."_

Felicity stomped away from the impossibly tall and perky redhead in Apartment 4b, as Oliver mumbled his thanks to the other woman.

"It's like I was a ghost before I was dead," she grumbled, when Oliver caught up to her in the stairwell.

"You're not dead, remember?"

"Might as well be - not one person in this entire building knew I existed."

The minute Constantine had left - with a promise to stay in Starling so he could examine her body - Oliver had dialled the number of the woman subletting the apartment, hoping to find out about Felicity and the location of her maybe-not-dead corpse.

Felicity had watched him pace in front of the coffee table, cell phone pressed against his ear. She'd sat on the edge of the couch, nervously bouncing her leg up and down as they both waited for the call to connect. The morsel of hope that she might be alive had overcome any and all reservations she'd had about discovering her past.

It was finally time to figure out what had happened to her.

"Answering machine," Oliver murmured.

Or it would be, if they could get through to this mysterious woman.

After leaving a message, they'd decided to canvas her neighbours to see if anyone remembered her. But to no avail. Door after door, they'd been met with confused looks and shrugged shoulders.

Felicity was a nobody. Not worthy of recall.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself, feeling dejected and ignored, the faint remembered echoes of high school insignificance reaching through her subconscious to taunt her.

"Hey," Oliver called softly. She looked up at him from her perch on the top step. "Don't take what they said to heart."

"Easy for you to say," she scoffed. "I bet no one's ever failed to notice you."

He ignored her jibe. "So what if they didn't notice you, or remember you. They obviously weren't worth your time."

She gave him a small smile - touched by his attempts to make her feel better - but before she could respond, his cell phone rang. She sat up straight. _This was it._ The call they were waiting for...

Without breaking eye contact, Oliver reached into his pant's pocket for his phone. But when he glanced at the display, he sighed. "It's Digg. Sorry."

As he turned away to answer the phone, she slouched over. It was ironic. She'd spent weeks blissfully ignoring her real life, but the moment she wanted to know the truth, it was nowhere to be found.

"I'll be right there." Oliver disconnected the call then tapped the phone against his thigh as he looked at her.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Digg has a lead on an assassin - Guillermo Barrera. Apparently he's en route to Starling by helicopter as we speak."

"He's here to kill someone?"

"Looks like it. Won't know who until I confront him."

She gaped at him. ”Well, why are you just standing there?"

He crouched down to her level. ”I just...are you sure you'll be alright? You seem down."

"Oliver, are you seriously debating whether to attend my little pity-party over stopping a hired killer?"

He flashed her a quick smile. ”Well when you put it like that…”

“Exactly!” she returned his grin and made shooing motions with her hands. “Get out of here. I'll see you when you get back."

He got to his feet and took off for the stairwell exit. Just as the door swung closed, she yelled after him, “Be careful!”

* * *

“You seem in better spirits this morning,” Oliver remarked as he rinsed his coffee cup in the sink.

“Was that a ghost joke, Oliver Queen?” Felicity teased. When he just gave her a look in return, she continued. “You’re right, I do feel better. I gained a bit of perspective last night and I realised I've been given this chance to see my life from the outside, and to take stock of the things I want to change. And top of that list is to not be a hermit loner.”

“Sounds like a good list so far. But first we need to find your body.”

“First we need to find my body,” she agreed. “So any thoughts on how we do that?”

Oliver leaned back against the kitchen counter and tucked his hands in his pockets. “Well I tried the phone number again but it’s still going to answer machine.”

“Okay, so plan A is on hold and plan B was a bust. Plan C?”

“Plan C is this,” he replied, pulling out a crumpled dry cleaning stub from his pants pocket. “I found this after you first started…appearing. This, and the ‘Felicity’ mug, were the only clues in the apartment.”

“Okay then. Field trip to Chinatown.”

“Yep,” Oliver replied, grabbing his jacket from the back of the dining table chair. “It’ll actually kill three birds with one stone.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll explain when we get there.”

* * *

The old man behind the counter looked up from his book when the bell attached to the door dinged their arrival.

"Picking up or dropping off," he asked in a bored monotone.

"Um, picking up, I guess," Oliver replied as he passed him the ticket stub.

The man squinted at the faded writing on the crumpled receipt. "One dress, purple, dated..." He looked up at Oliver and shook his head. "We won't have this anymore. Anything left more than three months goes to charity." He picked up his book again, a clear sign of dismissal.

"Sir," Oliver persevered, "The dress belonged to my..." he glanced quickly at Felicity, "Sister, who was in an accident. You wouldn't happen to remember her, would you?"

The older man sighed and picked up the ticket again. Felicity leaned over the counter and whispered to him, "Help me Obi Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope." She heard a muffled laugh behind her, so threw Oliver a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I remember her."

Felicity straightened up in shock, as Oliver stepped closer to the counter. "I'd appreciate anything you can tell me - I didn't know much about her life here."

"Blond girl, right? About yay high," he gestured to the top of his own greying hair.

"I'm taller than that," Felicity mumbled, feeling insulted.

"Yeah," Oliver said, and with a look to Felicity, added, "Definitely about that height."

She stuck her tongue out at him but he just grinned and turned back to the man behind the counter. "Do you know where she worked, or who her friends were?"

"Friends? No. She was nice, but always seemed...sad. Lonely."

Oliver thanked the man, then the two of them headed back out onto the busy sidewalk. "You okay?" Oliver asked, as he dodged a harried-looking mother with a stroller.

"Yeah," she replied absently, "It's all just a bit depressing." What kind of life had she been living? Was it a life at all, or just an existence? The people sharing the same building barely noticed her, she seemed lonely and sad to strangers... The more she discovered about herself, the less she wanted to return to that life.

"I need a distraction," she decided. "I need to work."

"Work?"

"Yeah, you know vigilante-work. You are still in the crime-fighting business, aren't you?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

"Well you mentioned there were a few birds around here you needed to hit with a stone..."

He checked his watch. "I don't think I put it quite like that, but yeah. You see that restaurant across the street?"

"The Jade Dragon? What about it?"

"It's a front for the Chinese mafia - the Triad."

"Really?"

"Really. And I need some intel. Barrera - the assassin from last night - died before he could give up his target. But that restaurant was the last number he dialled on his cell phone, so-."

"So you're just going to stroll in and ask them who his big Starling City target is?"

"Nope." He waved at someone across the street. She squinted against the bright afternoon sun and managed to spot a handsome guy with a mop of dark brown hair waving back. "Is that Tommy?"

"It is. We're gonna get some egg rolls."

"So you invited your unsuspecting friend for lunch, as a cover for interrogating the Chinese mob?" She couldn't quite keep the judgement out of her voice.

He glanced down at her, a look of hurt flashing across his face, before his mask of indifference slotted into place. "Not that it's any of your business," he bit out, "But I invited Tommy because he's having problems with his Dad and I knew he wanted to talk it through. The Triad stuff is just a...side-project."

He took off at a jog to cross the street. She struggled to keep pace while apologising, "I'm sorry, Oliver. I should have realised. I know you've been making more of an effort with your friends and family."

He nodded to her in acceptance of the apology, then greeted his friend with a slap to the back. "Happy birthday, Tommy."

"Thanks, buddy." Tommy gestured to the restaurant. "Gotta say, this is a little downmarket from our usual haunts."

"I was told this was the most authentic Szechwan in town," Oliver said as they entered.

"Whatever, dude, I'm starved."

The two men caught up on club business while they waited for their orders. Felicity was content to watch the easy camaraderie between them. This was an Oliver she rarely saw - the laid back, carefree man. And while part of it was an act - he seemed too hyperaware of the servers entering the room behind him to be completely relaxed - it nevertheless gave her a glimpse of who Oliver used to be. And who he could be again, if only he'd let the people closest to him into his life, without all the subterfuge and secrecy.

"So how did the big romantic birthday celebration go last night?" Oliver asked as they tucked into their noodles.

"It was great - until my Dad showed up and ran all the smiles out of the room."

"Ah." There was a wealth of understanding and commiseration in that small sound, which made Felicity curious about the Merlyn family dynamics.

"Yeah. Apparently he's being honoured by the Starling City Municipal Group tonight. Some kind of Humanitarian Award. Wants me to be there."

"At least he came by," Oliver continued. "And the fact that he wants you there? Seems like he's trying to act a little bit...dad-like."

"Dad-like. That sums up my father perfectly."

"I know the two of you have never been close, but it couldn't have been easy for him after your mom was killed."

"Yeah, I guess he forgot that there were two of us in that club," Tommy responded, with no small amount of bitterness.

"I'm not defending him, Tommy. It's just...with everything I've been through..." he paused and looked at Felicity. She wasn't sure if he was searching for help or inspiration to continue opening up to his friend, but she gave him a small smile of encouragement anyway. He smiled slightly in return. "I lost people on that island, Tommy, and...I know how hard it can be."

Tommy nodded, but still looked angry. "You probably don't remember this - we were only eight - but after her funeral, he left for like two years. And when he did come back, he was he was so frickin' cold. We barely spoke. And that's why I spent so much time at your house." He took a large drink. "From the outside, it always looked like I had a father. He paid my bills, he lived in the house, he bailed me out. But _your_ dad took me to my first hockey game. Your dad taught me how to fly fish. Your dad took us to our first R-rated movie-"

“But he wasn’t perfect," Oliver interjected quietly. "My dad made mistakes. And we haven't talked about this, but I have a lot of anger towards him. But still..." he trailed off and looked to the side, as if caught in a memory. "I would give anything to have him back, because at the end of the day, your dad is your dad. Just think about that, Tommy, before you cut yours out of your life completely."

"Oliver," Tommy smiled. "I'm really glad that you're back."

Oliver looked away at that, and Felicity shook her head at him. Why did he find it so hard to believe that people cared about him?

“I've got to hit the restroom," Oliver mumbled, as he got to his feet. He shot Felicity a look. Right. _Game time_ , she thought. As Tommy called a waiter over for the check, Felicity followed Oliver through the bustling kitchen to an office at the back of the restaurant. They watched as a large Asian man handed over a wad of cash to someone at a not- counting machine.

"You stand guard," Oliver whispered to her. "Anyone else comes back here, shout.”

“Got it,” she whispered back.

Oliver hit the lights, plunging the office into darkness. Felicity then watched as he leapt onto the big guy, forcing him to the ground. He grabbed a sauce bottle off the desk and squirted into the accountants eyes, blinding him. Felicity flinched as the man screamed out in pain. He tried to run, but Oliver was suddenly there, tackling him to the floor.

The sound of flesh pounding flesh and the accompanying pain-filled grunts rang out in the dark room. Then…silence. Whispers. Felicity strained her ears but couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Let’s go,” Oliver barked, making her jump with his sudden appearance.

"Did you get what you needed?" she asked, her eyes roaming over him looking for injuries.

"No," he grunted. "We need to head back to the Foundry."

* * *

Oliver paced the concrete floors, hands on his hips as he thought out loud. "Barrera's world class. He kills high profile targets. And whatever job he was hired for isn't finished..."

"So we need to figure out who he was here to kill," Felicity finished.

"I don't know how," he growled in frustration. "I've asked the cops, but they're actively hunting me, so it's unlikely they'll help. Diggle's checking his Federal agent contacts but that's a long shot. I've got nothing! According to the guy at the Jade Dragon, it's happening tonight, but we're at a dead end. All because I can't get into this phone." He yanked Barrera's cell phone from his pocket and slammed it down onto the computer desk.

"I thought you found out the last number dialled?" Felicity asked, coming over to inspect the hardware.

"And that's all I could get. It's got some sort of encryption on it that I can't hack."

Felicity studied the innocuous piece of black plastic, the words _encryption_ and _hack_ circling her brain, tugging to the surface pieces of memory and instinct. She ran a ghostly finger over the surface and found herself whispering, "I can do that."

"What?"

"I can hack that phone," she said with more confidence. She was sure of it. And the conviction was like a jigsaw puzzle piece slotting into place. Like she'd unlocked a level of herself. 

Oliver looked at her strangely. "Well, I can't hack it physically," she waggled her useless fingers at him, "But I can talk you through it. Come on, what do you have to lose?"

He said nothing, just sat at the computer and hooked up the phone via the USB cable. She relayed instructions to bring up the operating system of the phone and, as the first lines of code started scrolling across the screen, a sense of...rightness overtook her. She started grinning as she fed him complex instructions and keystrokes, the language feeling as natural to her as English.

Her fingers itched with the need to fly over the keyboard, Oliver's hunt-and-peck approach to typing threatening to drive her insane. But just before her joy at discovery turned to irritation, the answer appeared.

Malcolm Merlyn was the target.

"Merlyn, as in...?"

"Tommy's father," Oliver confirmed, rubbing his hand over his mouth in disbelief.

"The benefit..." Felicity whispered. "Oliver it's happening at the benefit!"

Oliver jumped to his feet and checked his watch. "Starts in an hour."

"Well go! Suit up – in a tux, or leathers, whichever is best - just go! Save the day!"

"Thanks, Felicity. That," Oliver pointed to the computer, "Was amazing."

* * *

It wasn't until hours later, when he'd returned to the dark Foundry, sore from the fight with China White, and with Tommy's recriminations echoing in his head (' _You're the vigilante. Were you ever going to tell me?'_ ) that Oliver truly grasped the implications of Felicity's skills.

She'd hacked an encrypted phone.

She was an IT girl.

She was _the_ IT girl. The one Walter had recommended.

The one he was supposed to meet 3 months ago.

Felicity Smoak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a week late - real life kinda kicked my ass!  
> Thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter - the response really blew me away.


	10. Chapter 10

Oliver hung up the phone and pressed the button to call the elevator. "He's on his way."

Felicity nodded. Her foot tapped silently against the linoleum floor and her fingers twisted together in a nervous tangle. The elevator arrived - at once incredibly quickly, and after an interminable period of time - with a soft 'ding'.

Felicity silently followed Oliver onto the elevator, but forced herself to talk in order to break up the tension flooding the small space. "Has Tommy been in contact yet?"

Oliver sighed. "No, he's ignoring my texts. Which is better than yelling, or going to the cops, I suppose, but..."

"But you'd rather know where you stand with him."

"Yeah."

"He'll come around, Oliver. He found out the Big Green Secret during a stressful time - his dad was dying after all - so he just needs some time to process."

"I know," he replied. He turned to face her, his blue eyes mirroring the uncertainty she was feeling. "Speaking of processing, are you ready for this?" he asked quietly.

"Is there a way to be ready for this?" she answered, just as the elevator stopped and the doors opened onto the busy hospital corridor.

The question was more than just rhetorical - if there was a way to deal with seeing your own body, she'd love to know about it. 

Because Oliver had found her.

She was Felicity Smoak, IT girl for Queen Consolidated. 

He was being fairly tight-lipped about how he'd discovered her identity. He'd returned to the apartment the previous night, looking bruised in a way that a fight with the Chinese mob couldn't completely account for; after he'd explained about Malcolm's poisoning and his reveal to Tommy, he'd dropped the other bombshell. 

He knew who she was. 

And, thanks to a call to her boss - someone named Mr Eckleton - he'd discovered her whereabouts.

Starling General Hospital.

Oliver gave her a bolstering smile as he exited the elevator. She followed him up to the reception desk, which was a hive of activity, with doctors and nurses milling around the computers and filing cabinets, chatting to each other, and on phones. He caught the eye of a stern-faced woman in uniform. "Excuse me, can I speak to someone about Felicity Smoak?"

Felicity barely heard the reply. She felt...weird, all of a sudden - light-headed and dizzy. And there was a strange rhythmic pounding sound that was drowning out the bustle and noise around her. 

She watched, as if through a darkening tunnel, as a passing doctor in a white coat shook Oliver's hand. She saw their lips moving, but could only catch the odd word as the pounding beat got louder and louder, until it seemed to resonate within her. 

"...information...Ms Smoak...accident."

"...accident?"

Accident.

 _Accident_.

The word sparked a visceral response in Felicity. Her dizziness increased and the room around her spun as she was catapulted back to that fateful night three months ago...

 

_Her phone rang just as she put the car in reverse and released the handbrake. She was concentrating so much on avoiding the much more expensive cars around her as she backed out of her narrow parking space, that she activated the bluetooth to answer the call before checking the ID._

_Big mistake._

_“Hi Sweetie!” Her mom’s piercingly shrill greeting made Felicity wince._

_“Hi, mom,” she answered while, adjusting the volume on her car’s speaker system. She’d been avoiding this call for days - ever since her cousin had announced the date for her wedding._

_“I’m so glad I caught you! But I can’t talk for long – my shift starts in ten.”_

_“Why don’t I call you back on your next day off then?” Felicity mentally crossed her fingers…_

_“No, it’s fine – we’ll chat now, and then we can chat again later.”_

_Felicity sighed in defeat. She loved her mom – she did. She just…didn’t have anything in common with her. And the longer she spent away from home, and the more miles there were between them, the more apparent that fact became._

_“Bethany’s wedding is coming up and I was wondering if you were going to bring a date? Are you seeing anyone at the moment?”_

_Felicity rolled her eyes._ Subtle, mom.

_This was exactly why she was avoiding the call. Her mom didn’t understand Felicity’s job, so the only way she knew how to bond with her daughter was through men._

_And Felicity’s love-life was non-existent at present._

_“No I’m not seeing anyone,” she admitted whilst pulling out on to the main road leading away from the Queen Consolidated building._

_“Why not? You should be beating them off with a stick! Are you still wearing your glasses? You could get contacts, or that laser-thing, you know.”_

_Her mom was a bombshell. Well she’d have to be – she was a cocktail waitress in Vegas, where your livelihood depended on tips._

_Or was it the other way around? Was her mom a cocktail waitress because she was a bombshell…or was she a bombshell because she was a cocktail waitress? What came first?_

_Felicity shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for a chicken and egg philosophical debate about bombshell-ness._

_The point was, her mom was a knockout – all legs and boobs and natural bouncing blond hair._

_And Felicity was…Felicity._

_She was short and flat-chested and her blondness came from a bottle._

_And she wore glasses._

_She’d never measure up to her mom, laser-vision or not. At best, with a touch of bright lipstick and her hair down and curly, she could be described as…cute. And she was fine with that. She would prefer to be assessed on her brain, and not her bra-size._

_But her mom struggled with that concept, and was convinced that with a tight dress and a pair of heels, Felicity could land a ‘catch’. And what was more important than that?_

_“I just haven’t met anyone, mom,” she admitted, increasing her speed on the quiet street._

_“Well you should get out there, then! All you do is work and go home, work and go home. You never mention any friends, or hobbies...I’m worried about you, baby,”her mom said softly._

_Felicity swallowed and the street lights around her blurred with the sudden onset of tears. She really should give her mom more credit. This was the reason for her call – not about a date to a stupid wedding. Her mom was worried about her._

_“You don’t need to be, mom. I’m fine.”_

_“I know you’re fine – you’re the most self-sufficient woman I know. But are you happy?”_

_Was she happy?_

_She wasn’t unhappy. And most days she was even content. But sometimes she looked at her life - or the lack of it - and realised how small her existence was. How little an impact she had on the world, and the people around her._

_And yeah, she got lonely. She was a naturally talkative and outgoing person. Or, at least, she used to be. But…it was safer this way. She was safer. She’d lost so many important people. And it hurt more and more every time._

_A blinding white light from the headlights of an approaching car shocked Felicity out of her introspection. And by the time she realised the car was coming straight at her, it was too late to do anything but scream…_

 

Felicity sucked in a breath, as if it was her first intake of air in months. Her awareness slowly returned to the hospital corridor around her and she stared, dazed, at her surroundings.

She remembered.

She remembered the accident. She remembered her life. She remembered... _everything_.

And she felt strangely…disappointed. A car accident. _That_ was the big mystery. It seemed so...prosaic. 

Maybe she'd been hanging around a reckless vigilante too much, but she’d thought her potential death would have been more exciting. Or at least had more…meaning. 

But it turned out her end was as small and inconsequential as her life.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the pounding noise around her - louder and faster than before. But this time she could pinpoint its origin - the corridor to her right. She felt drawn to the sound, and her feet started moving her towards it before she realised. Oliver gave her a searching look as she walked away from him, but he was still in discussion with the doctor so couldn't follow her.

And she needed to do this alone. 

As she reached room 409, and drifted through the closed door, the pounding noise was replaced by the electronic beep of a cardiac monitor. 

Her cardiac monitor. 

Her heartbeat.

Her body, lying still in a hospital bed.

She approached slowly, taking in the equipment keeping her alive - the IV bag connected to a vein in her hand, the feeding tube down her nose, the breathing machine hooked up to the tracheostomy in her neck...

"It's really you," a soft, awed voice said.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Oliver closing the door behind him, his eyes locked on the pale, unmoving figure in the bed. 

"It's really me," she replied, her voice just as hushed.

"The doctor said you sustained a severe head injury in a car crash. You've been in a coma ever since."

"I remember the crash."

He glanced at her. "Really?"

"Yeah. I remember everything."

Oliver seemed at a loss for words. He crept closer to the body on the bed, his eyes flickering over her features, as if seeing her for the first time."You look…you look really pretty."

She gave him a small smile of thanks, then turned to the windowsill, where a small smattering of cards and a vase of wilting flowers were displayed. There was no note attached to the flowers, but the cards were from her boss, a couple of co-workers and an old friend from MIT. 

She knew she should be grateful for the well-wishes she had received, but all she felt was...pathetic. There were so few cards…She had so few people who cared about her. And she only had herself to blame for that. 

She looked back at the body in the bed. Did anyone visit her? Or did she lie here, day after day, alone? She noticed how smooth and silky her hair looked - obviously someone brushed it. But did they do it out of love, or because it was their job?

"Is this you?" Oliver asked, sounding surprised and...amused? He was holding a small framed photograph - the same one that used to reside on her bedside table at home. 

He flipped it around so she could see her past self - black hair with a purple streak, heavy black make-up, and a nose ring. 

"Yeah," she replied, fondly. "I made some...questionable fashion choices back in MIT."

He studied the image, a small smile on his face. "You look really happy, though. I thought that went against the goth creed?"

She smiled at his teasing.

"Is this a private party or can anyone join?" 

Felicity whipped around to see Constantine in the doorway. 

"Thanks for coming, John," Oliver replied. He gestured to the body on the bed. "We found her."

"I can see that, mate," Constantine replied. "Coma?"

"Yeah. Head injury from a car crash."

Constantine frowned at that. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, that's what the doctor said - a drunk driver veered into the opposite lane and hit Felicity's car head on."

A non-committal, "Hmmm," was his only reply as he walked over to the body on the bed. He removed a vial of black powder from his trenchcoat pocket and started dusting it over the exposed skin of Felicity's arms with a small brush. 

Felicity and Oliver watched from the end of the bed. She realised they were both standing with their arms crossed, but whilst Oliver looked like a battle-ready soldier, she felt more vulnerable, like she was trying to hold herself together. It was only just starting to hit her that she was in a coma. 

One she might never wake up from. 

"What does that do?" Oliver asked, as John stepped back from the bed and inspected the powder marks. 

"It's used to detect celestial burn marks, which she'd have if her soul was forcibly removed by a demon."

"But it wasn't, right?" 

"No," Constantine replied with a frown. 

"You don't sound pleased about that."

"Well it explains why she’s still around and not trapped in some hell dimension..."

"But…" Oliver prompted.

"But, at least I'd know how to deal with that.” He turned to Oliver with a grave look on his face. “I don't know how to help her." 

“What?” Oliver asked, stunned. 

Constantine produced a business card, like a magician revealing a trick, and Felicity edged closer to read the simple black script:

_John Constantine_

_Exorcist, Demonologist and Master of the Dark Arts_

"Like it says here, I deal in the unnatural - the darker side of the world," he explained. "But there's nothing dark or unnatural about this," he waved at the still figure on the bed. 

"So if it's not dark, or unnatural, what is it?" Oliver asked.

"That's a very good question, mate. And I think if you solve that, you'll figure out a way to fix her." He opened the hospital room door, then turned back to look at Oliver. "I’ll contact a couple of mediums I know, see if they’ve seen this before, but I can't guarantee anything. And I'm needed elsewhere, right now. I'm sorry, Oliver.” His eyes drifted around the room, until he focused on Felicity, “I’m sorry, Felicity. Truly. Good luck to you both."

Oliver and Felicity looked at each other as the door closed behind him, with twin expressions of confusion and despair. He was their only lead!

"Wait here - I'm going to talk to him," Oliver said, before he bolted from the room. He returned minutes later, a contemplative look on his face. 

"Did he say anything else?" Felicity asked hopefully. 

Oliver just shook his head. "So what do we do now?"

"I have no idea. I’m in a coma. Which is better than being dead, and it's better than being ripped from my body by a demon, but still…coma. That’s not good." 

"We need to put you back together again. Try the merging thing you did with me and my mom."

Felicity nodded and moved closer to the bed. Then, with a deep breath, she lay down on top of her body. She closed her eyes in concentration and willed her spirit to fuse with her flesh. 

But...nothing happened. 

Not even a flicker of contact. 

She climbed out of the bed, and huffed in frustration. "I'm not sticking! It's like I'm not connected to this body at all."

Oliver looked and her, then at the body on the bed, a speculative gleam in his eyes. "Turn around."

"Why?" 

"I just want to try something."

She turned to face the window. At first nothing happened, but then she felt the faintest pressure on her right hand. It was the first hint of true sensation she'd felt in months. Gasping in shock, she looked over her shoulder to find Oliver with her body's hand clasped in his. 

"You feel that?" he asked, caressing the top of her hand with his thumb.

"Yeah," she whispered. 

He placed her hand back on the bed gently and she closed her eyes at the loss of sensation. "So you are still connected."

"But how can-"

She was interrupted by the beeping of his cell phone. He flashed her a look of apology as he fished the phone out of his pocket. He read the text message with a frown. 

"Is everything okay?"

He shook his head. "That was Digg - apparently the Huntress has returned."

"The Huntress? Oh, you mean Helena, your psycho ex-girlfriend."

"How did you-" he shook his head in understanding. "Digg."

"Yeah," she replied with a small grin. "He tends to talk to himself when he's alone in the lair."

"Well she's back, and apparently she killed her father’s lawyer at a strip club last night."

"Then you need to go."

He nodded, but paused at the door. She read the indecision on his face, and tried to reassure him. "I'll be fine. You’re needed elsewhere - you have a killer to stop. Oh! And you have your big club opening tonight. ”

"Are you...will you come home - I mean, go back to the apartment later?" he asked hesitantly.

She bit her lip. "I don't know. Now that I found her - me - I feel like I should stay here."

"I hate the idea of leaving you here alone."

She shrugged, "I don't know where else I belong."

He opened his mouth to say something but his phone beeped again. 

"Go, Oliver. It's okay."

He looked at the body on the bed, then back at her, his eyes troubled. "Okay. Bye, Felicity."

"Bye," she whispered, as he closed the door behind him. 

***

Felicity spent the night curled up in the chair by the hospital bed, staring at her body, willing it to move, to gasp, to show some signs of life beyond the artificial beeps of the cardiac monitor, and the whir of the ventilator. 

But nothing happened. 

She was jolted out of a light doze early the next morning by the arrival of a visitor.

"Hi, sweetie," Donna Smoak crooned as she entered the hospital room.

She was dressed in a sinfully tight, bright pink dress and a little fur jacket. Her hair was big and her heels were high, and Felicity had never seen anything better in her life. Their differences and estrangement suddenly seemed completely insignificant in light of what was happening, and Felicity was hit with a wave of tenderness. "Hi, mom," she whispered, suddenly wanting nothing more than her mother's comfort. For all Donna's faults, she was excellent at caring for her child - Felicity remembered days off sick from school, where she was coddled back to health with hugs, and blankets, and warm milk and soup. 

She watched now as Donna shucked off her jacket and watered the wilting flowers with some tap water from a small cup. She straightened up the cards on display and opened up the windows to air out the room. Then she took a hairbrush from her purse and started brushing Felicity's hair. 

_This was a routine,_ Felicity realised, tears filling her eyes at the thought. Her mother was here for her, looking after her, after all these months. 

Felicity relaxed into the chair, content to watch her mom fuss over her and chat in her typical bubbly way. "The weather is gorgeous today, hon. I probably shouldn't have worn the fur, but I couldn't resist - need to look my best for all these handsome doctors!"

Felicity smiled at the typical Donna thought pattern, but then snapped to attention when Donna mentioned Oliver's phone calls. “The tenant's been ringing and ringing, but I've been ignoring the messages. I can't bear the thought of dealing with some silly problem with the apartment, when I'm so focused on you." As she spoke she started filing Felicity's nails. "It's my own fault for subletting the place - I know you'd hate that, but I couldn't afford to cover the rent on your place when I'm away from work. I can barely afford the crappy hotel I've been staying at." 

Donna picked up Felicity's hand to apply a coat of red nail polish, and Felicity suddenly realised she couldn't feel her mother's touch. There was no pressure, no sensation - not like with Oliver’s caress. 

Before she could examine that revelation further, a doctor entered the room - the same one who had spoken to Oliver yesterday.

"Hello, Ms Smoak." His smile was kind but there was a serious look in his eyes. One which Donna picked up on immediately. She capped the nail polish and got to her feet, tugging down the hem of her dress, with shaky hands. "Hi, Dr Samson."

"Why don't we have a seat," he said, gesturing to the couch by the door. 

Donna bit her lip and nodded. After they'd settled on the couch, the doctor spoke again, "Have you had any chance to think about our discussion last week?"

"A bit, but it's a big decision," Donna replied.

"I understand that. But it's been three months since the accident, and your daughter has shown no signs of improvement. If anything, her brain activity is decreasing."

Felicity got to her feet as a chill went through her. She had a bad feeling about where this conversation was headed... 

"As you know," the doctor continued, "She signed an Advanced Directive last year-"

"Yes," Donna interjected. "She arranged it after my mother died - it…wasn’t a good death."

"Well, Felicity explicitly stated that she was against artificially prolonging her life in these types of circumstances."

"That was before!" Felicity cried out. "I didn't know this would happen! Don't listen to him mom,” she pleaded. 

"People have woken up from this type of coma before..." Donna bargained.

"Yes! Exactly," Felicity agreed. 

"It's extremely unlikely," the doctor said at the same time. "As her next of kin, you have the power to over-ride the decision to withdraw treatment, but I think you need to consider what is best for Felicity. And what she wanted."

Donna nodded, but there was a stubborn glint in her eyes that Felicity recognised - she was done listening to the doctor. 

"Look through the paperwork I gave you. If you decide to veto, you need to sign-"

"I'll think about it," Donna interrupted, her tone firm. 

The doctor nodded and quietly left the room. 

Donna sighed, suddenly looking old and worn. The sight shocked Felicity, and she felt a pang of sympathy for what her mother was going through. 

But she needed more time. 

"Mom," she begged. "Please sign the papers - you have to stop this. I’m still here! I'm trying to wake up!"

But it was futile. There was no way to get through to her.

Donna packed up her purse and exited the room, leaving Felicity all alone. 

———

Oliver closed the apartment door behind him, relieved to shut out the rest of the world for the next few hours. 

He was exhausted after what had felt like an endless night; first there was the confrontation with Tommy, where he was accused of being a murderer. Then the club opening. Then Helena had taken Tommy hostage - almost breaking his arm in the process - in order to blackmail Oliver. 

And he’d agreed to her terms; tonight he had to help her kill her father as he was transported to his court hearing. 

Despite all that, it was Felicity weighing on his mind most of all. 

Mere months ago, his work under the hood had taken precedence over everything else in his life. His days and nights were distilled into aims and objectives. There wasn’t room for anything else. 

Now he wanted it all to go away, so he could focus on Felicity. 

"Are you here?" he asked hopefully. 

"Guess not," he muttered when there was no reply from the empty hallway. 

He hated how they'd left things at the hospital - it had felt too much like a permanent goodbye. But there wasn't really any reason for her to come back here. Or to see him again He had promised to help her, but he was out of options. He'd managed to uncover the truth of her existence, and reunite her with her body, but that was as much as he could do. Maybe she was right, and that she needed to stay with her body - perhaps the close proximity would spark a connection... 

He thought back to his brief conversation with Constantine in the hospital. 

He'd managed to catch the other man just as he was calling for the elevator. "Is there really nothing you can do?" he'd asked, desperation in his voice. 

"Sorry, mate. Like I said, I'll ask around, see if anyone's heard of this happening. But Chas called me about a spot of trouble in New Orleans that I need to check out. I can't stay here."

Oliver huffed out a breath in frustration. "I promised I could help her."

"Well then, you might want to have a think about why you're the only one who can communicate with her."

"What do you mean?" Oliver asked, just as the elevator arrived.

Constantine stepped into the car and pulled out a cigarette in preparation for leaving the non-smoking grounds. "We can all shape our destiny...but none of us can change our fate," he responded, just as the doors closed.

Oliver pondered the cryptic words as he pulled a pack of bacon from the fridge. Was this all part of some grand cosmic plan? Was he destined to meet Felicity, no matter the circumstances? And if so, what did that mean for them?

His thoughts - and his breakfast - were interrupted by a knock at the door. A foolish part of him somehow thought it might be Felicity, but he opened the door to Laurel's worried face instead. 

"Hi," he greeted her, stunned - she’d never been to his place before.

"Hi," she responded. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Oliver closed the front door, then settled on the couch opposite her. "Is everything okay?"

She gave a bitter laugh. "Nothing's okay." She shifted in her seat. "I know this is awkward, but I need to talk about Tommy.”

Oliver smiled in encouragement. “It’s fine, Laurel. You can talk to me.”

“I’m worried about him. He seems...distracted lately. The club opening was a massive hit - he should have been on cloud nine, but he seemed upset and angry. And he hurt his arm last night, but he won't tell me how. Do you know what's going on with him?"

Oliver sighed. He knew exactly what was going on with Tommy - he'd just found out his best friend was the Hood, and he'd been caught in the crossfire of Oliver’s dispute with Helena. But there was no way he could tell Laurel that. 

Secrets and lies. They had a way of tearing his friends and family apart. But the truth was too complicated to reveal.

That's why he treasured his relationship with Felicity. There was real honesty between them. She knew him. She saw him. And he could be himself with her. 

He needed to save her

He needed her in his life. 

But right now, he needed to salvage his friends' relationship from the damage he'd caused. "I'm sure it's just the stress of the club opening," Oliver said, trying to make light of Laurel's concerns. "It's the first venture he's tried out from under Malcolm's thumb - he needed it to be a success."

"It's more than that, Oliver. He's been working on the club for months, yet he's always been present and attentive. But yesterday he completely forgot about breakfast with my parents-"

"Your mom’s in town?" Oliver interrupted, jumping on the opening to change the subject. 

"Yeah," Laurel sighed. "She thinks…she has reason to believe Sara might still be alive."

"Laurel…" Oliver began, at a loss for words. That was not what he was expecting, at all. A sudden wave of guilt and pain washed over him at the thought of Sara. 

"The evidence is compelling, Ollie."

"Laurel, I saw her drown." It was the truth, just not the whole truth, a distinction he knew the lawyer part of Laurel would not appreciate. Still, he wasn't prepared to reveal the details of his time on the island with Sara. 

She sucked in a breath, tears filling her eyes. "I know it's crazy, but I just miss her so much, and I hoped-” her voice cut off with a choked gasp.

"I miss her too," he replied. He scooted closer to her on the couch and took her in his arms. She burrowed her face in his neck and he could hear - and feel - her tear-wracked sobs. He closed his eyes, his own grief at Sara's death rising to the fore. 

But when he opened his eyes again, Felicity was standing in front of the couch, a stricken look on her face. 

He jerked and released Laurel. "It's not what you think," he spluttered. 

"What?" Laurel asked, confused. 

Felicity just shook her head and fled down the hallway. 

Oliver watched her go, desperate to run after her and explain. Which was ridiculous, right? He didn't really owe her an explanation...

Regardless, he first needed to deal with Laurel. "Nothing. I'm sorry for upsetting you, but I couldn't give you false hope."

"I understand." She dabbed her eyes with a tissue and gathered her purse as she stood. "Thanks, Ollie. I guess I need to go speak to my mom."

Oliver nodded and showed her to the door. 

Then he squared his shoulders and went in search of Felicity. 

* * *

"So that was Laurel," Felicity said from her perch on the bed. "Gorgeous Laurel," she murmured under her breath. 

"She just came over to-"

Felicity held up a hand. "You don't need to explain, Oliver. She’s your laurel - and I'm no-one," she said in a sad and dejected voice. 

He sat on the bed opposite her. "You are _not_ no-one, Felicity. Laurel came over to talk about Tommy, and it segued into a conversation about her sister. She got upset and I was comforting her - as a friend."

"But I know you have feelings for her-"

"Yes," he interrupted. "As a _friend_. I thought about what you said all those weeks ago. About being in love with the _idea_ of Laurel - and you were right. We are very different people now. And I'm happy for her and Tommy - they're good for each other."

Felicity bit her lip and nodded slowly, allowing Oliver to relax.

"They're trying to take me off life-support," Felicity blurted, and all thought of relaxation fled Oliver's mind. 

He sat up straight in panic. "They can't do that, can they?"

"My mom can over-rule the decision by signing some paperwork, but they're wearing her down."

“But she’s your mom - she can’t let you die!”

She looked down at her lap. "I don't think it matters what she does - apparently my brain activity is decreasing every day..."

She sounded so...defeated. As if she'd already accepted her fate.

There was that word again. 

Well he refused to let this be the end. If they _had_ indeed met for a reason, it wasn't just to let her die. It couldn't be. The thought of losing her was a knife to his chest... 

A sudden ringing startled them both. 

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and frowned at the caller ID. It was his realtor. 

"Hello," he answered carefully. 

"Oliver! I have great news.” The cheery voice was at odds with the tense air in the room. "The woman subletting the apartment is prepared to offer you a nice long lease - no more living month-to-month!"

"How long of a lease," he asked, an icy chill skating down his spine. The only reason to extend the lease was if Felicity...

"Really long. Indefinite," she replied, confirming his horrible suspicion. 

Oliver hung up the phone and pinned Felicity with an intense look. "We need to go talk to your mom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking some liberties with the whole Advanced Directive thing - just go with it!  
> Hope you liked this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hi, handsome.” 

The words were flirtatious, but were spoken in a flat, despondent tone - as if the woman in front of him was fulfilling a role she was expected to play, but didn’t have the energy to sell it. 

Oliver took in her tired, red-rimmed eyes and the slouch to her shoulders, and knew that the choice to end Felicity’s life had taken its toll on her mother.

“Oh, mom,” Felicity whispered, having obviously come to the same conclusion.

“Hi, Ms Smoak, my name is Oliver-”

“Queen," she interrupted, perking up a bit. "You’re Oliver Queen. Oh my God, oh my God.” She ran her hands over her hair to smooth it, and straightened her top before stepping aside to let him in to her small hotel room. “Come in, Mr Queen. And call me Donna, please. Oh my God, I’m so sorry about the mess.” She darted around the room, frantically picking up clothes from the bed and lifting a bra (which he studiously avoided looking at) from the chair by the window. 

“It’s fine, Ms Smoak - Donna. I’m sorry to barge in like this but I’m a friend of your daughter-”

“Felicity?” She looked astounded at the thought. And he felt offended on behalf of the woman standing beside him, who was being uncharacteristically quiet.

“Yes, we met while she was working for my family’s company.” 

“Oh, I see. Is that why you’re here?” she asked, looking confused. “On behalf of your company?”

“Um, no. I- I heard about her situation. And I wanted to ask you - to beg you - to reconsider. She’s strong, I know she can pull through this.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes and she swallowed once before replying. “That’s really sweet of you to say. My baby girl _is_ strong - the doctors said she should have died the night of the crash - but she's not strong enough. She's not getting any better.” 

"She just needs more time!"

"It's too late, Mr Queen. They’re turning off her life support tomorrow at noon."

Oliver’s heart stopped at her words and he quickly glanced behind him to gauge Felicity’s reaction to the deadline. She looked small and scared as she watched her mom with sad eyes. Her demeanour, and her silence, worried him; he wasn’t used to seeing her look so...defeated. 

“Please,” he begged, desperation evident in his voice. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

Donna’s back straightened. “This wasn’t an easy decision to make, Mr. Queen, but this is what’s best for Felicity. It’s what she wanted.”

She walked over to her suitcase and pulled a photo from one of the side-pockets - a photo of a younger Donna cuddling a little girl with brown pigtails. She traced over her daughter’s face with a manicured nail, and kept her eyes locked on the image as she spoke, “Felicity was - _is_ \- so smart. Just like her father. The two of them would spend hours together, working on his computers, and I always felt...left out. Even after he walked away, and it was just the two of us, Felicity and I never really connected. We were just too different. But that didn't stop me from assuming I knew what was best for her. I spent her whole life trying to change her - from her clothes, to her job, to her love life...” Her voice trailed off and she tore her gaze away from the photo to look Oliver in the eyes. “I was on the phone to her, when the accident happened, did you know that? And the last thing she _ever_ heard, was a criticism of her life - of her choices." 

Donna tucked the photo back in her bag and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Despite that evidence of her pain, her voice was strong. "This is something Felicity asked for. So for the first time in my life, I’m going to respect her wishes.”

“Oh, mom,” Felicity whispered again, repeating the only two words she’d spoken since arriving there. “Let’s go, Oliver. I don’t want to upset her anymore.”

“No,” Oliver replied loudly, uncaring that, to Donna, it looked as if he was talking to thin air. He was fully aware he was going to sound like a lunatic but he had run out of options. If he didn’t take this risk, he’d lose her.

And he couldn’t lose her. 

“Donna, this is going to sound ridiculous, but Felicity…Felicity is here with us. Right now.”

“No, Oliver, stop,” Felicity hissed. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her, and continued to address her mother. “She’s standing next to me right now and she wants you to give her more time.”

“She’s standing next to you,” Donna repeated slowly. She didn’t sound sceptical, but there was something…off, in her tone. 

“Oliver, stop!” Felicity repeated. 

He whirled to face her, “No, you need to let me do this.”

He turned back to Donna. “I don’t know how, or why, but I can see her - her spirit. And I can talk to her. Ask her anything! I can tell you what she’s saying.”

Donna nodded slowly. “Can you wait here, for just a second,” she replied in a quiet, controlled voice, as she carefully edged passed him to enter the small bathroom.

“Yeah, take your time. I know this is a lot to handle.”

“Mmmhmm,” she murmured, not taking her eyes off him until the door closed between them.

Oliver glanced at Felicity, who was looking at him with tentative hope in her eyes. “Maybe you’re getting through to her. Maybe this will work.”

He smiled at her, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Donna burst out of the bathroom brandishing a small pair of scissors in one hand, and a black platform stiletto shoe in the other. She charged at Oliver, “Get the hell out of here, you freak!”

Oliver quickly vaulted over the corner of the bed to put some distance between himself and the, admittedly rather meagre, weapons. With his back now to the exit, he put his hands out in a defensive pose. “Donna, just let me-”

“No! You need to leave right now, or I’m calling the cops!”

Over the top of Donna’s screeches, Oliver could hear Felicity yelling as well, “Oliver, don’t go all ‘hood’ on my mom!”

He spared her an incredulous look. She must have realised how insulting that was because she winced and mouthed ‘sorry’.

He backed up out of the hotel room door, his hands raised in supplication. “Okay, okay, I’m leaving.”

“Good! If you ever think of coming back, just remember that I’m a Vegas girl, and I work a table at Caesar’s that’s frequented by no less than three mobsters!"

The door slammed shut, the threat of Italian retribution hanging in the air between Oliver and Felicity. 

"At least we know your mom can take care of herself," Oliver mused, at a loss for anything more helpful to say.

Felicity gave him a small smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, and started walking towards the hotel exit. 

"Hey," Oliver said, jogging to catch up with her. "Are you okay?"

"Am I okay? Well I just saw my heartbroken mom fly into a rage, and I found out I'm dying tomorrow. So yeah, I'm doing just fine." 

Oliver felt the bite of her sarcastic reply, but figured she was entitled to feel a little snarky. 

Felicity apparently disagreed, "I'm sorry, Oliver. I shouldn't take this out on you - you've tried your best to help."

"That sounds like you're giving up."

"There's nothing more we can do," she sighed and gave a small shrug.

"No. I refuse to accept that. And you shouldn't either."

Felicity responded with a bitter laugh. "Believe me, I'm not usually so accepting." She turned to face him in the small hotel corridor. "If I'd accepted my life, I would have been a cocktail waitress in Vegas like my mom, and I never would have gone to college, and I never would have believed some crazy guy in a hood when he told me I could help him catch bad guys and protect this city!"

"So why are you accepting this?" he shouted. 

She pinned him with a look, "What choice do I have?" The words were quiet, but firm and resolute. "You heard what my mom said - I should have died three months ago in the accident. For some reason, I was given this extra time, but it's over now." 

"No!" he yelled, frustrated by her calm surrender. _There must be something they could do!_ He hated this sense of...powerlessness. He was used to having something he could shoot or hit or punch when he felt like this. He was used to having a target. Something - someone - tangible he could take out to solve the problem. "I'll try Constantine again. Or we can come back here when your mom's calmed down, and talk to her again."

She shook her head. "You can't. You have that thing with Helena tonight."

"I don't care about that."

"Oliver, you do care!" she said passionately. "She's threatening your friends and family - I won't have you risk the lives of the people you love just for me." 

"Fuck!" The expletive was forced out through gritted teeth. Damn Helena and her vendetta. Just months ago he'd felt sorry for her. He'd wanted to help her find justice, and they'd bonded over their mutual anger and loss. Now she was a thorn in his side. So warped by hatred and the need for vengeance that she was threatening the lives of innocent people. 

Digg was right - if she were anyone else, he'd have put an arrow through her by now. "I should have killed her when I had the chance," he muttered angrily. 

Felicity shook her head at that statement. "That's not you, Oliver. That's not who you are."

"Yes it is, Felicity." Tommy's accusations were never far from his mind. The words 'murderer' and 'killer' ricocheted through him, leaving bruises on his soul, whenever he thought back to the night he'd revealed his identity. If his oldest friend could recognise the darkness within him, why couldn't Felicity? "I've killed before, and I'll kill again."

"But you won't kill Helena." Felicity voice was sure and strong, a testament to the belief she had in him, a belief that Oliver wasn’t certain he deserved. "You won't kill her, because you see yourself in her. Someone who needs redemption. Someone who needs a second chance to prove they're more than just a pair of bloody hands. You won't kill her, because you cared about her once - I think you still do. You have such a big heart, Oliver. I see it in the way you talk about your family. I see it in the way you fight for this city, and the people in it. And that's why you won't kill her." 

A woman emerged from the hotel room behind him, putting an end to their conversation. They didn't say another word as they made their way to the car and drove back to the apartment, and Oliver was glad of the silence. His mind was on Felicity's declaration in the hotel corridor, and the epiphany her words had sparked. 

_It was her._

_It was all because of her._

When he'd returned to Starling City, any compassion or care that remained in his heart had been buried beneath layers of suspicion and distrust. The five years that he'd been gone, the things he'd been through, the things he'd done...they'd altered him completely. He'd stopped trusting anyone. He'd stopped seeing people for...people, and instead they’d become threats and targets.

He hadn’t known how to turn that part of himself off. Even with those closest to him - his family, his friends - that wariness had never left him. They were a threat, because he feared their reaction if they ever discovered his true nature, or the shameful things he'd done on the island. And he’d projected that fear onto them - instead of compassion, he’d seen pity. Instead of concern, he’d seen interrogation. 

So he’d kept himself apart, and the lies he’d told, and his resolve to complete his mission, had acted as a buffer between him and them. 

But that all changed when Felicity appeared in his life. 

She was the first person in years he could see as a...person. Something about her broke through that barrier around his heart, and he was able to connect with someone again. Looking back on the past month, he could see the difference she'd triggered in him. He was less consumed by the darkness. He'd reached out to his sister, and Tommy. He'd learned to care about something beyond the next name in the book, beyond his next aim and objective. 

It was all because of her. 

And she'd be gone by this time tomorrow.

* * *

The air around her was still. Expectant. As if waiting for her to do something. To scream. To cry. To rail against the utter unfairness of her situation.

And it _was_ unfair.

She was only 23 years old, and her life was over. Tomorrow the doctors would disconnect her life support, and her body would cease to breathe. 

But what would become of her? The spirit part of her? 

Would she become untethered from this earth, and move onto the next plane of existence - whatever that was?

Or would she continue this ghostly existence in truth?

Felicity wasn’t sure which option she was hoping for. 

Spend eternity here, unable to interact with the world, not growing older, not really living her life…or take her chances with the whole afterlife thing?

_Was there an option C?_

Felicity sighed and flopped back on the bed. _Probably not._ Oliver had tried contacting Constantine again before he’d left to meet Helena, but the number was disconnected.

He’d left shortly afterwards, his eyes somber and sad. She’d given him a smile and wished him luck, projecting an air of calm acceptance that she didn’t feel inside. 

She didn’t want to die. 

She hadn’t done anything with her life! She hadn’t found her purpose, or made an impact on the world.

And now she never would. 

The bridge of her nose burned with unshed tears. She didn’t dare let them fall, because if she did, she doubted she’d ever stop crying. And for some reason, it was important to her to be strong for Oliver. 

When did he start to factor so prominently in her thoughts and decisions? She was never _that_ girl. That girl who just loses herself in a guy. And it wasn’t just because he was the only person on the planet that she could talk to - she genuinely cared about him. The damaged, shell-shocked man she’d met last month had become the closest friend she’d ever had. She wanted him to be happy, so desperately. The scraps of his life on the island that he’d shared with her, his insistence on bearing the burden of the city on his shoulders, his deep love for his family, it all combined to paint a picture of a man who deserved a real future - not just endless nights of fighting and pain.

She didn’t want to leave him.

_She didn’t want to die._

She rolled over on the bed to face the window and watched the indigo sky darken to black. This was her last night on earth. There weren’t many people who knew the exact time they would die - maybe it was just her, and criminals awaiting execution. 

And that’s what this felt like. An execution. Someone would flip a switch tomorrow and end her life. 

And the only thing she was guilty of, was wasting her life. 

The soft orange glow of the streetlight pouring through the window reflected off something in Oliver’s jacket, catching her eye and pulling her from her maudlin thoughts. Curious, she sat up to peer into the jacket pocket. It was a silver photo frame. _Her_ photo frame, with her college photo inside - the one from the hospital. 

“Felicity?” Oliver’s tentative voice carried down the hallway.

She hadn’t even heard him arrive. “In here,” she responded, her gaze still locked on the image of her smiling younger self.

“Hey,” Oliver called softly. 

She looked up to find him slumped against the doorframe. “How did it go?” she asked, scanning him for injuries. He looked unhurt, but exhaustion was writ on every inch of him. 

“The police showed up before we could intercept her father’s transport. They took Helena into custody, so I had to break her out before she could reveal my identity.”

Felicity bit her lip. Prison was definitely where that psycho belonged, but there was no doubt she would have taken Oliver down with her. He’d made the right call to save his own skin, but she could tell the decision weighed heavily on his conscience. 

“So where is she now?”

Oliver sighed. “I bought her a plane ticket and told her to get out of town.”

“Do you think she’ll listen?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “She’s out of options. She’s a fugitive from the law, and she has no way of tracking her father’s safe house.” He gave her a small grin, “Good thing she didn’t know about a certain computer expert on the team, otherwise she’d be forcing you to hack the FBI database.”

Felicity returned his grin, “Well I have been dying to break into the FBI security system…” her voice trailed off when she noticed his grin turn to a grimace. She played back the sentence in her head and winced. “Sorry, poor choice of words.”

Awkward silence overtook their brief moment of levity. At a loss for anything else to say - and not yet willing to discuss tomorrow - she gestured to the photo frame peaking out of his jacket pocket. “Why do you have this?”

He pushed off from the doorframe and picked up the jacket, then joined her on the bed, stretching out beside her to rest his head on the pillow. He pulled the frame out of the jacket pocket and studied the photo. “When I left you at the hospital, it felt almost like I’d never see you again. I guess…I just wanted to have a picture of you.”

"Is that you're way of saying you missed me?" she teased gently.

"Yes," he replied, looking up from the photo, his eyes fixed on her with such honesty and intensity she had to look away. 

She glanced down at the picture cradled in his strong hands. “I love that photo.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I had…I had a boyfriend in college - Cooper - and he didn’t like his picture being taken. Used to rant about how the government was secretly stockpiling facial profiles on all citizens through their digital media.” She rolled her eyes; even in the throws of young, rebellious love she’d never fully agreed with all of Cooper’s conspiracy theories. “So I don’t have a single picture of us together. He took that,” she gestured at her beaming face, “After we’d passed our final exams - it’s one of the few things I have to remember him by.”

“What happened to him?”

“We were in this…I guess you could call it a ‘group'. We were Hacktivists, for lack of a better word. Civil disobedience via the world wide web. I created a virus - a supervirus, really - that could give us root access to any infected server. We could expose government fraud, digitally deface criminals…” she shook her head, disappointed in her past self’s naive stupidity.

“Our senior year of college,” she continued, her voice soft and hesitant - she’d never told anyone the full story of what had happened, but it was a fitting time for a deathbed confession. “Cooper used my virus to wipe out a bunch of student loan debt. He got arrested.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, “And he hung himself before sentencing.” 

Oliver inhaled sharply, “I’m so sorry.”

She opened her eyes and let out a soft bitter laugh, then gestured to the photo. “That night was probably the last time I was truly happy. After graduation I moved here and spent the last year - my last year on earth, as it turned out - hiding from the world. I felt so guilty and I was so…mad at him. I told him I’d fight with him, that I’d wait for him, but he chose to kill himself instead. He chose to leave me.” Felicity swiped angrily at the tear running down her face. “When I think of how I squandered this year…all I did was exist. I shut myself down and hid myself away in a menial job. I wasted my life. It was all for nothing.”

“Don’t say that,” Oliver responded, his voice fierce. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be bleeding out on my mom’s office floor. You saved my life!” He rolled to his side to face her. “You experienced a traumatic loss, and you took some time to grieve - it doesn’t mean you wasted your life. You didn’t even waste your afterlife - you helped me catch a thief, save Diggle’s neck, and stop an international assassin, all without a body!”

Felicity sucked in a breath as the significance of her actions the last few weeks hit her. _He was right,_ she realised. She’d finally made a difference in the world, something she’d wanted to do her entire life. She’d always hoped and envisioned her legacy would be inventing the next groundbreaking piece of technology. But, this was better. She’d helped save lives and stop bad guys. And while nobody knew of her involvement, apart from Oliver, that didn’t matter to her - she didn’t need the glory. It was enough to know there were people in the world safe and alive because of her. 

She may be dying at the age of 23, but her short life wasn’t without meaning after all. 

And it was all thanks to Oliver. 

She flopped back on the bed, feeling light and free in the midst of her life-affirming epiphany. She rolled over so that she was facing Oliver, the two of them on their sides in an intimate pose that felt entirely natural.

He studied her face quietly for a few moments, and she could tell he was debating whether to share something with her. “Do you believe in fate?” he asked eventually.

She crinkled her brow - that was not what she was expecting. “Why?”

“In the hospital, Constantine asked me why I was the only one who could really see you. Then he said something about fate and destiny…”

“You think this was all part of some grand plan?”

“I think…I _believe_ we were destined to meet, no matter what.”

“Oliver…I say this as the ghostly spirit of a girl in a coma - that sounds a little crazy.”

“Felicity, three months ago, I stole a laptop from Floyd Lawton, but it was damaged in a shoot out. I needed help to get the information off it, so I asked my stepfather to recommend someone in IT. He gave me your name.”

“Your stepfather?”

“Walter Steele.”

“You were my big consult?” she whispered, her eyes growing wide.

“We were supposed to meet the day after your accident. I went to your office, but there was some temp guy there instead.”

“We were supposed to meet…” she said, almost to herself, still trying to process. 

“And we did meet, six weeks later, when I just happened to rent your apartment, of all the places in Starling City.”

Felicity mind was spinning. She’d never held much stock in the concept of fate and destiny - she believed you made your own choices and accepted the consequences - but Oliver’s theory, his _belief_ , explained much. It explained why he was the only one who could see her and talk to her, it explained the connection she’d always felt to him and his emotions…

“It’s how I’m able to find you,” she breathed in wonder. 

“What?”

“When I found you in your mom’s office…I was able to feel your pain - it pulled me towards you.” Her voice became excited as the ramifications hit her, “Maybe that’s the point of all this,” she gestured between them. “Maybe I was supposed to save you.”

“You did save me, Felicity,” Oliver said passionately, “More than you know. When we met, I kept saying you were dead, but _I_ was the one who was dead - dead inside - and you brought me to life.” 

He shifted closer to her on the bed until they were sharing the same air. She could see every shade of blue in his eyes, and the intensity in those eyes had her transfixed. “Felicity, before I met you, I had a plan. I had a way that I was gonna be. But then you appeared into my life, and you changed _everything_. There is so much darkness in me, but with your kindness, your compassion, your intelligence, your wit, and your trust, you started guiding me into the light. You almost have me believing I deserve to be happy, and you make me want to be a hero.” He swallowed and briefly closed his eyes. “Whatever happens tomorrow, I need you to know that the way that you make me feel is the best part of my life.”

Felicity blinked away bittersweet tears. Nobody had every said anything like that to her before. She was so glad to know that she’d helped him, this man she cared about so much, but at the same time, she hated that their relationship - their bond - was to be cut short. If they had met that day in her office, would they have made it here? To a place where they were sharing their hearts? Would they have been more than friends, if that accident had never happened?

She wished she could go back and live that night again. She’d have left work at a different time, taken a different route home, paid more attention to the road…anything to change one of the million variables that had collided to keep her and Oliver apart. 

But wishing only brought pain when you had mere hours to live. 

She couldn’t change the past, and the future appeared set, so all she could do was live in the present. And in the present, she couldn’t express how she felt about him through touch - she couldn’t hold his hand, or take him in her arms, or kiss him...

All she could do was return his gift of words. 

“You changed me too,” she began, her voice husky with tears. “I was cut off from the world long before I was physically removed from it. I kept to myself and I wouldn’t let anyone close to me - I’d been burned one too many times. But you crept beneath my defences and you opened up my heart. You brought me back into the world. You let me be a part of your team, and your life, and because of you, I got to help people and make a difference. So whatever happens tomorrow, know that you helped give my life purpose. I'll be forever grateful for that, so thank you, Oliver.” 

Oliver shook his head, a small smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. “How’d you get to be so strong?”

“I took my lead from you,” she responded. And it was the truth. She’d seen the physical and emotional toll his five years away had wrought. A lesser man would have crumbled under that torture. Would have given up, or become cold and indifferent. But beneath his shell of brutal pragmatism, Oliver was still kind. He still cared. And that compassion wasn’t a weakness; it was a testament to the strength of the man in front of her. A man who had endured so much, but still retained his humanity. 

“I wish…” Oliver began hesitantly, but then he shook his head.

“What?” she prompted.

“I wish I could touch you,” he whispered, echoing her earlier thoughts.

“Me too,” she admitted, her voice just as hushed. “When you held my hand in the hospital, I felt it. My _spirit_ felt it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I think if you could ever really touch me, I might wake up from all of this.” That hope came from the deepest part of her. Because for all her stoic acceptance of her death, she was terrified. She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want this to be the end. 

They both turned quiet, with nothing left to say in the wake of her confession. Her eyes drifted over his face, memorising the angle of his slightly crooked nose, the depth of the tiny lines around his eyes that spoke of a past full of laughter, the length of the bristles covering his sculpted jaw…

He was beautiful. And in case there was a life beyond this earth, she wanted to take this memory of his face with her. 

Gradually, Oliver’s blinks lengthened until his eyes remained closed, his ridiculously long eyelashes resting against his cheeks. It was late, and he’d been awake for more than 36 hours, so she didn’t begrudge him his sleep. She would just watch over him through the night and banish any nightmares that might seek to disturb him.

But Oliver jerked awake moments later, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Oliver,” she whispered. “Sleep. I’ll still be here in the morning. We can say goodbye then.”

“I feel like we’re always saying goodbye to each other,” he murmured, the words slurred by exhaustion. 

“Well, let’s just say goodnight, for now.”

“Goodnight, Felicity.”

“Goodnight, Oliver,” she breathed, her voice barely registering in the intimate space between them. 

* * *

“Felicity.”

“Felicity! Get up.” 

The sharp, insistent voice pulled her from her slumber.

She rolled over and squinted as the morning sunshine streaming thorough the window fell across her eyes. As she adjusted to the bright light, she saw Oliver sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning towards her.

“Get up,” he repeated. His face was more serious than she'd ever seen it, his eyes blazing with emotion.

Her heartbeat sped up in response. “What's going on?”

“We need to get to the hospital,” he replied, as he started tying his boots with brisk, efficient movements.

“Has something happened? Do you have a plan?” she asked hesitantly, barely able to hope that this wouldn't be her last morning on earth. Her last morning waking up with him…

He nodded quickly as he shrugged into his jacket, “I have a plan." He hesitated, and grimaced slightly, before continuing. "It’s not a brilliant plan, but it's a plan. I still need to figure out how to wake you up. But until then, we just need to buy a little more time.”

“How are you going to do that?”

He pinned her with an intense look. “I’m going to steal your body.”


	12. Chapter 12

“This is crazy,” Felicity muttered as she paced around the small hospital supply room. With Oliver sharing the cramped space, there was barely room to swing a cat, but luckily she didn’t need to dodge the boxes of bedpans and syringes stacked on the floor - they just drift through her as she mapped out an agitated route around the room.

Oliver - _stupid, stubborn Oliver_ \- was leaning against the shelves by the door, eyes closed with his hands in his pockets, looking for all the world as if he was waiting at a bus stop instead of planning a heist which could land him in jail!

“This is so crazy,” she repeated, louder this time. 

Oliver sighed and opened his eyes to track her movements across the floor. “I’ve done crazier things,” he shrugged. 

She threw him a withering look. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“This is the only option left to us, Felicity,” he responded calmly. “It'll be fine - we’ll gather the supplies needed to keep your body alive, set you up in the Foundry, then work on waking you up.”

She shook her head. "Oliver it's not that simple. There are a dozen things - at least! - that could go horribly wrong." But it was no use appealing to his logical side. His mind was made up, and there was no budging him. She’d tried in the apartment. She’d tried in the car on the way here. She’d been trying for the last fifteen minutes as they waited for Digg to arrive.

It's not that she _wanted_ to die. She didn't. She wanted to live, now more than ever. Especially since her talk last night with Oliver. She scoffed to herself; the word _'talk'_ was so inadequate. It had been so much more than just a simple conversation - it had been earth-shattering and heart-breaking and life-affirming. She'd shared her darkest secret with him, and how the guilt and pain of Cooper's death had caused her to retreat from the world. And how Oliver had burst through her self imposed isolation and brought her back. Back to the world. And back to life - well, figuratively speaking. 

And his words...she held each of them close to her, like treasured possessions. They were seared on her heart, just like the emotion in his eyes and the exact cadence of his voice as he'd spoke, were forever ingrained in her memory.

The knowledge that she'd impacted his life as much as he had hers...was overwhelming. She'd seen the gradual change in him during their weeks together - his cold, distant demeanor had softened; his wariness had eroded until he was sharing himself, not just with her, but his friends and family - she'd just never suspected that _she_ was the catalyst for that shift.

That two lost souls should find each other, beyond all logic, and against the known laws of nature...there was definitely a poetic, destined feel to it. And while there was no way to know for sure if their meeting was planned, or just some random act of cosmic serendipity, it didn't matter to her. Either way, they _had_ found their way to each other. 

And they'd found themselves in each other. 

Which just made this whole 'dying' thing supremely unfair. 

They deserved a chance to see where this thing between them could lead. If they were a couple, in all the ways that implied...she had a feeling they could be truly amazing together. 

So yes, she agreed with Oliver that they _did_ need more time. But that didn't mean she had to like this idiotic plan! She didn't want to buy her extra time at the expense of Oliver's freedom. Especially when the chances of her waking up at the end of all this were slim at best. 

Three soft raps on the closed door to Oliver’s right finally signalled Digg's arrival. Oliver stood up straight and cautiously opened the door, swinging it wider when he saw Digg’s face. “Thanks for coming.”

Locked together in the cramped space, the two men seemed even more physically imposing than usual. Felicity edged around Digg to stand by the door - it was her job to periodically stick her head through the wood and act as look out - while Oliver tried to convince his friend to help them. 

A task he was failing at. Apart from his initial greeting, Oliver had yet to say another word - he was just shifting his weight from one foot to the other while the thumb of his left hand rubbed against his fingers in a nervous tick.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Digg prompted. “I get woken up by a cryptic text asking me to bring the van to Starling General and meet you on the fourth floor, so I’m here. What’s the deal?”

“This is going to sound a little crazy,” Oliver started, and Felicity snorted softly at that complete understatement. “You know you asked me a while ago if I was seeing someone…?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I am. I’m just the only person who _can_ see her.”

Digg just arched an eyebrow and folded his massive arms. “Explain.”

Oliver did. He told him everything - from his first sighting of Felicity, to their unconventional living arrangements, to Constantine’s arrival, and the eventual discovery of her body. 

“Let me get this straight,” Digg said after Oliver had finished the tale. “You’re saying you’re being followed around by the spirit of some girl who's in a coma.”

“Yes. And they’re planning to take her off life support in,” Oliver quickly checked his watch, “94 minutes.”

Felicity’s heart thudded at the reminder of the looming deadline and her eyes locked with Oliver’s, the fear she was feeling reflected in his desperate gaze. 

Digg raised his arms and scrubbed his hands over his face, bringing their attention back to the man who held their fate. “Oliver, man…” he started, then shook his head, looking pained. “I’ve had friends - Army buddies - sometimes, they go through so much that they just…snap-”

“I haven’t snapped,” Oliver hissed, conscious of the doctors and nurses walking the corridors outside their hiding spot. “And I’m not going crazy - even you commented on how much…better…I seemed lately. That’s her influence.” Oliver pointed in Felicity’s direction. 

Digg creased his brow and turned to look at the space Oliver had gestured to. “She’s here? Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

Oliver looked at her imploringly. _How was she supposed to prove something like this?_ She frantically wracked her brain for something she could use to convince the other man. There must be something! She’d been in his presence without Oliver several times…”Oh!” she exclaimed. “When Digg thought he was alone in the Foundry last week, he tried out your bow and arrow. He completely missed the practice target and gouged a hole in one of the concrete pillars.”

Oliver relayed the secret to Digg, who momentarily looked surprised before his expression turned sceptical. “You could have cameras in that place, monitoring every inch of it.”

Felicity stamped her foot in frustration and tried another tack. “Ask him who Lyla is.”

“Lyla?” Oliver repeated.

“How do you know that name?” Digg demanded.

“I don’t,” Oliver countered, raising his hands in defence. “Felicity said to ask you about her.”

“He was going to call her when he thought he was dying," she explained. "During the thing with the Dodger.”

“Felicity said you were going to call her when you were collared by the Dodger.”

Digg looked rattled. “You kept talking to yourself during that case…” 

“I was talking to Felicity.”

Digg looked at Oliver carefully, his hands braced on his hips. Felicity held her breath in hope - she may not agree with this plan, but she didn’t want Oliver’s friend to think he was going off the rails. 

After a few silent beats, Digg forcefully shook his head. “Nah, this is insane! Look, man, I get that you believe this-”

“I do believe this!” Oliver interrupted. “Can that be enough for you? After all that we’ve been through, can you trust that I’m doing what I think is right? Can you believe in _me_ , if you can’t believe in her?” Oliver beseeched. “Please, Digg. I need you on this.”

Digg sighed and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. After a few more painful moments of silent deliberation, he met Oliver’s eyes. “What’s the plan.”

Oliver exhaled in relief. “I need you to tell me what equipment we’ll need from here to keep her alive in the Foundry.”

“I’m not a doctor, Oliver-”

“You have medical training. You’re the closest thing we have.”

As Digg nodded his assent, Oliver outlined the rest of his hair-brained scheme. Now that Digg was on board, Felicity’s anxiety over the plan was peaking. “We’ll dress as orderlies and wheel her out of her room, down the service elevator to the ambulance garage - that’s where you parked the van, right?”

“Right,” Digg nodded, then froze as the significance of Oliver’s plan hit him. “Wait, you’re not suiting up as the Hood for this?”

Oliver shook his head. “I can’t risk it. The anti-vigilante task force will be gunning for blood if the Hood is seen kidnapping an innocent dying girl’s body.”

“So you’re gonna do this as Oliver Queen? What if you get arrested?”

“An excellent question!” Felicity chimed in. 

Oliver looked at them each in turn, his face deadly serious. “Then I get arrested.”

His absolute conviction and dedication to saving her was staggering. The heartache of the little girl who’d watched her father leave and never return still resided within her; and that abandonment had shaped so much of who she was. It was a deeply ingrained insecurity - a fundamental tenant - that she wasn’t enough, that there was something wrong with her, that she was easy to discard…But Oliver was shaking that foundation to the core. He was willing to jeopardise his freedom - and the mission he believed in - just for her. She bit her lip and turned her back to hide her sudden tears from him. 

“Oliver," Digg implored. "I gotta know, why are you doing this? Why are you risking you’re life - you’re freedom - for this woman?” His quiet words echoed Felicity's thoughts, and she held her breath waiting for Oliver's response.

“Because…I love her.”

Felicity gasped and spun around to face Oliver. His eyes were already on her, and he looked calm and at peace with the revelation. He shrugged and shook his head in a single movement, as if helpless in the face of his feelings. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice soft, but sure.

“Oh,” she gulped, stunned and wide-eyed. “I-”

Her words were cut off as the door behind her suddenly swung open. A man in a pair of green scrubs entered the room but was brought up short by the two larger figures filling the small space. 

Oliver reacted instantly, throwing his left hand up to cover the man’s mouth as his right arm grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him further into the room. Digg shut the door as Oliver quickly applied pressure to the struggling man's carotid. He flailed for a few seconds more before losing consciousness. 

Felicity let out a shaky breath as Oliver gently lowered the man to the floor. _That was close_. They couldn't afford to stay in here much longer. Oliver had obviously come to the same conclusion because he looked up at them intently and growled, “We have to move. Now.”

* * *

Oliver and Digg, disguised by scrubs and face masks, slowly wheeled Felicity’s hospital bed out of her room, a duffle bag filled with stolen medical equipment stashed under her blanket. The portable ventilator keeping her alive whistled softly with every mechanical breath and Oliver tried to regulate his breathing to match it - this whole audacious plan rested on himself and Digg appearing calm and inconspicuous, just two normal porters transporting a patient. 

But he was feeling uncharacteristically nervous. 

Normally during missions he was able to stow his emotions, and dispassionately and methodically evaluate his surroundings, dispatch with threats, and devise contingencies. But right now his heart was racing and he could feel beads of sweat start to gather along his brow as he manoeuvred her bed along the corridor.

There was just too much riding on this for him to remain detached. 

And Felicity was right - there was so much that could go wrong. 

But what choice did he have? He'd woken this morning to the sight of Felicity asleep in bed next to him - pink lips parted, eyelids forming graceful crescents on her flushed cheeks, the freckles on her nose highlighted by the soft morning sun - and he knew. Knew with a certainty that at once took his breath away in fear, and settled like a long lost puzzle piece in his heart, that he loved her. He _loved_ her. And he never wanted to wake without her beside him again. 

So he'd decided to steal her body away from those who wanted to let it die. 

He knew the plan was flimsy at best, held together more by desperation than logic, but the barest hint of tentative hope had crossed her face when he'd woken her; and that had been enough to convince him to go through with it. If he didn't do everything in his power to save her, he knew he'd regret it for the rest of his life. 

And what kind of life would that be, without her?

He knew he could survive her loss - survival at this point was his default motivation. But he wanted more than to just endure life, he wanted to enjoy it. He wanted to be happy. It was a fragile wish, dangling just beyond his reach, growing stronger, waiting for the day he felt deserving of holding it in his hands. But he knew Felicity would help get him there. He knew, because any hint of joy and peace he'd felt this past month had been because of her - her presence, her belief, her inspiration. 

The fact that he already felt such all-encompassing love for her was further proof of the power of their connection. After everything that had happened during his five years in hell, after all the people he'd lost...he'd been convinced that type of love was lost to him. That he was too damaged, too hardened, to ever let someone close again.

But what he felt for her was real. Pure. Stronger than anything he'd experienced before. 

And without doubt or fear or apprehension, he'd confessed his love to her. The words freely spoken had settled around him like a second skin, forever altering him. So much so, that it didn't even matter that she hadn't had a chance to respond to those three little words. They hadn't been said in expectation of anything. He'd just wanted - no, he'd _needed_ \- her to know how much she meant to him. How important she was to him. How much she'd changed his life. 

"All clear," the woman in question called from her position at the front of the procession. She was still acting as look-out, checking the rooms lining the corridor for anyone who could exit and potentially blow their cover. 

“We need to take the corridor on the right - the service elevator is at the end,” Oliver whispered to Digg.

The other man nodded, the tight grip he had on the foot of the bed the only clue betraying his outward calm. 

Oliver held his breath as they reached the end of the passageway, which connected to an open-plan area housing the busy nurses’ station. Keeping his eyes down, he swung the bed around to the right. He breathed out steadily, relaxing slightly now that his back was to the small crowd of people gathered at the desk.

The ding of the public elevator to his left signalled the point at which it all went to hell. 

“It’s my mom,” Felicity shouted, drawing Oliver’s attention to the blond woman stepping through the elevator doors. Donna's eyes widened as she caught sight of Oliver - and the body of her daughter lying on the bed. 

Oliver took advantage of her confusion and shock and started running, pushing the heavy bed in front of him, but all too soon he heard Donna’s panicked screeches behind him, “Help! He’s taking her! He has my daughter!”

Digg sprinted ahead to call the elevator as the calls for security rang out around them. 

“Hurry, Oliver,” Felicity yelled from her position next to Digg. 

Oliver pushed faster, the adrenaline pumping through his body to narrow his focus down to one determined vow: _He couldn’t fail_. _He had to save her._

He could hear the squeak of rubbed-souled shoes chasing him along the linoleum floor but he was there - they wouldn’t catch him! He pulled back hard to brake his speed, as Digg grabbed hold of the end of the bed to swing it around to the open elevator doors. But just at that moment, four security guards burst from the stairwell opposite them, startling Felicity into letting out a squeak of fear. 

The guards split up, two running at Oliver, the other two at Digg. Oliver reacted on instinct, the muscle memory swinging his right leg out and around just as the first uniform reached him. The impact caught the man on the side of the knee and brought him down. Oliver spun to complete the movement, the momentum building power in his arm so the punch he threw at the second guard's jaw knocked him out with a single hit. 

Panting with adrenaline, Oliver turned to see Digg take a punch to the gut, the guard he was grappling with displaying some boxing ability. Oliver launched himself at the fourth man, who was trying to tug Felicity's bed away from the open elevator. Oliver brought him down in a sloppy tackle, a piece of equipment clattering to the floor during the melee. In the cramped space between the bed and the end of the corridor, Oliver struggled to subdue the other man. An elbow to the face - connecting more out of luck than skill - finally dazed the guard enough that Oliver was able to jump to his feet and grab the side of the bed. He pushed it into the elevator and frantically pressed the button to close the doors as he called for Felicity and Digg to join him.

Felicity - pale and shaking - ran through the closing doors but Digg was still dealing with his guard - and the two others who were scrambling to their feet. Digg's eyes met Oliver's with fierce determination. “Go, Oliver," he gritted out as he dodged an uppercut to the jaw. "Get her out of here." 

Oliver nodded and allowed the doors to close, the silent calm of the enclosed elevator jarring after the chaos of the brief fight. Oliver shut his eyes briefly to centre himself and prepare for the next stage of the battle. Security were bound to be swarming all the exits now, so escaping the garage wouldn’t be easy. 

“What’s that noise?” Felicity asked suddenly, bringing his attention to the repetitive ding of an alarm coming from the bed. 

His eyes flicked over the machinery hooked along the side rails but he had no idea what any of it did. 

“Oliver!” Felicity yelled, sounding scared. “The breathing tube's gone!”

His eyes flew to her neck, where the plastic tube should have been attached to her tracheostomy...but it wasn't there - it must have been pulled out during the commotion!

_She wasn’t getting any air!_

“Shit!” He punched the button for the next floor, escape forgotten in favour of saving her life. 

As soon as the doors opened, he pushed the bed out. “Help! Someone help, she isn’t breathing!”

Doctors and nurses swarmed towards Felicity just as a horrible sound rang out - the long piercing beep of a flatline. 

“No!” Oliver shouted, looking up a Felicity in panic. She was flickering, fading from view, her arm outstretched towards him. He could see her mouthing words but there was no sound. “No!” he repeated, launching himself towards the body on the bed. “Stay with me,” he cried, cradling her still, pale face in his hands.

He could feel hands gripping him, attempting to pull him off her, but he couldn’t let go. 

Desperate, he tried to breathe for her. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers, a jolt of electricity going through him as their lips touched. He breathed out, the air passing between them in a warm rush of life. Her chest rose and fell with the movement but there was no other response. 

The hands tugging at him finally pulled him away from the bed, allowing the doctors to step in and continue CPR. He submitted to the security guards pinning him to the floor but craned his neck to watch the efforts of the people treating Felicity. 

Donna flew through the stairwell door, her heels clattering on the floor as she came to a halt in front of the team working on her daughter. She watched the commotion, her hands pressed to her mouth and her eyes wet with tears. 

“Stop resuscitation.” A doctor called out with authority. It was Felicity’s doctor, the one Oliver had spoken to days before. He stepped forward and addressed the crowd around the bed, “She’s DNR - we had permission to withdraw treatment today.”

All action ceased and the doctors and nurses slowly stepped away, allowing Donna to approach the bed. Her hands fluttered around Felicity's face, as if hesitant to touch, before she finally settled them on her daughter's cheeks. Oliver watched as she bent down to kiss her forehead. “Goodbye, baby,” she whispered in a tear-soaked voice. 

At that confirmation, Oliver’s head dropped to the floor. His eyes squeezed shut, the pain of her loss washing through him, leaving him gasping for breath.

_She was gone._

A harsh sob escaped him. 

_She was really gone._

He barely registered the movement as the security guards pulled him to his feet, his body passive with shock. They began marching him towards the exit, but he froze in his tracks, his arms yanking painfully against the grip of the guards as he registered a faint sound emanating from the bed behind him... 

A single beep from a cardiac monitor.

Then another

And another… 


	13. Chapter 13

_2 weeks later_

Oliver bounded down the stairs to the basement of the Foundry, the force of his footfalls betraying his frustration at the latest failed mission.

“How’d it go?" Digg asked, leaning back in the chair by the computer station.

"He was gone. Taken,” Oliver gritted out. He placed his bow on the table with exaggerated care - lest his anger cause damage to the weapon - and took a deep breath. "Looks like Nickel was on someone else's list, too."

John Nickel was one of the dirtiest real estate developers in Starling City; his buildings had faulty wiring and heating systems that had let to numerous deaths from fires and freezing temperatures. His name also happened to be in a certain notebook, and after the DA failed to indict him on manslaughter charges, Oliver resolved to cross him off the list. But he'd arrived to find a ransacked apartment…and no target. 

"After the fire last night, it's not entirely surprising," Digg commented. "We’ll have to focus on his tenants, anyone who might have filed a formal complaint against him, relatives of the people who died…” He scrubbed his hands over his face, and grimaced. "It's gonna be some list."

"But we need to find him," Oliver said, turning to face the other man. He braced his arms on the table behind him and tried to shake off the fatigue batting at him. 

Digg cocked an eyebrow. "To take him out, or rescue him?"

"Doesn't matter. We need to find out who took him - I don't like the idea that somebody dangerous is out there." Off Diggle’s incredulous look, Oliver clarified with a wince, "Somebody else."

Digg nodded absently as Oliver picked up the notebook from the table behind him and started flicking through the pages. 

"You're gonna cross Nickel off anyway?" Digg enquired. 

"No. I'm finding somebody else who warrants a talking-to," Oliver responded. He needed to be out on the streets again. He needed the distraction. And he needed to push himself past his current lethargy, into mind-numbing exhaustion. Maybe then he could sleep, deep enough to prevent the dreams...

"Wait," Digg said, coming to his feet. "You’re going out there again? You should be heading home, Oliver."

"When the work is done, Diggle," Oliver said firmly. He knew the other man meant well, but home for Oliver was the small, bright apartment he'd shared with _her_. It wasn't the stark, echoing mansion where he was currently staying. Being back there, back in his old room...it reminded him too much of what he'd lost. 

"Okay, then I'll take you out to dinner," Digg offered.

"I'm not hungry," he mumbled. His attention was locked on the scrawled names in front of him...which meant he didn't see Digg edge closer until he yanked the book from his hands. 

Oliver looked up in outrage but Digg just fixed him with an intent look. "I'm not asking." 

****

Oliver took a huge mouthful of the greasy burger, the taste of the meat and the melting cheese rushing through his depleted system like a jolt of energy. He swallowed and took another bite, then mumbled around the food to the man sitting across from him, "Hungrier than I thought."

Digg just rolled his eyes. He'd barely said a word since they'd sat down, and seemed less interested in his own meal than studying Oliver with a worried look. Oliver was well aware the trip to Big Belly was a cover, that Diggle obviously had something to say. "Are you waiting for me to finish before giving me the lecture?" he asked snidely, before taking a sip of his soda. 

Digg huffed in acknowledgement, then launched into his concerns. "Oliver, you've been spending a lot of time under that hood the last couple of weeks..."

"Keeps my ears warm."

Ignoring that comment, Digg continued. "And you seem to have made this decision to avoid….entanglements." 

"It's easier that way," Oliver replied. "What’s the problem? Do you think I'm losing my grip?" 

"No, it's just the opposite, really. You seem calm. Scary calm. I get that things didn’t end well with Felicity-" 

"I don't want to talk about that," Oliver interjected sternly.

"I get that. But what do you do instead? You hood up, you go home, you repeat. Not much of a life, man."

"The life that I'm leading right now doesn't leave much room for an actual _life_. And I don't need one."

"Wow. That's a pretty bleak future you plan on spending with no one."

"I'm used to isolation."

Digg leaned forward. "And that is _exactly_ what worries me. You're falling back on bad habits, man. When Felicity was in your life, it’s like you had finally left the island. You were living your life. Seeing your family, your friends, spending time out from under the hood. But, ever since she woke up-"

"I told you," Oliver gritted out. "I don’t want to talk about her."

It was so much easier - and far less painful - to just forget about that day in the hospital. To forget about _her_ , and the impact she'd had on his pathetic excuse for an existence. 

Not talking about her was more than an act of denial. It was self-defense.

But even Oliver could admit it wasn't working. 

He missed her. With a depth and intensity bordering on physical pain. He ached for her presence - her smile, her laugh, the light she brought to his life - every waking moment. And there was no respite in sleep, either. Each night in his dreams - his _nightmares_ \- he relived that brief moment of time between flatline and heartbeat, when he was convinced she was lost to him forever. The wrenching, pain, the utter devastation, the hopelessness he'd felt...it consumed him, until he woke, gasping on a cry of heartbreak. 

And, always, those first few seconds of consciousness were a tangle of confusion - _what was real? Was she dead? Did she live?_ \- until the groggy, dream-induced turmoil faded, and he had to force himself to remember the truth...

_A single beep on the cardiac monitor._

_Then another._

_And another..._

_Oliver sucked in a breath as the steady rhythm of Felicity_ ' _s beating heart echoed along the corridor, the relief almost bringing him to his knees._

_"That's not possible," the doctor nearest Oliver muttered as Felicity gasped, then let out a weak cough. Donna cried out in response to the sound and rushed towards the gurney. Oliver watched as she picked up her daughter's hand. "Baby? Can you hear me?” she asked in a shaky voice._

_Felicity turned her head to the side and opened her eyes slowly. "Mom?" she croaked._

_The broken, hesitant voice sparked a frozen Oliver into action. He wrenched his arms from the security guards and rushed forwards, coming to a stop along the side of the bed opposite Donna. Felicity was facing away from him, her confused gaze locked on her mother's face. She tried to sit up, then winced and collapsed against the pillow. "I think I bumped my head," she moaned._

_Donna laughed through her tears and looked up, suddenly aware of Oliver's presence. Her smile faded into a frown, and she cocked her head to the side as if sizing him up. Felicity followed the direction of her mother's gaze and peered up at Oliver._

_All thoughts of Donna's scrutiny, and the security guards hovering at his back, faded into nothing as Oliver smiled down at Felicity. She was still pale, and her full lips were slightly chapped, but she looked beautiful to him. So full of life. "Hey," he said in a soft voice._

_She continued to stare at him in silence, causing a spark of unease to flicker through him. "Felicity? It's me, Oliver," he prompted._

_She shook her head slightly, and her blue eyes narrowed with suspicion - and fear. "How do you know my name?"_

_"Honey, you don't remember Oliver?" Donna asked. "He told me you were friends."_

_She faced her mom and shook her head again, stronger this time. "I don't..." her voice trailed off in confusion._

_"You don't know who I am." Oliver whispered the words as the realisation washed over him. His head spun as a feeling of loss hit him all over again. All they'd shared, the closeness they'd found with one another...it was gone._

_He was a stranger to her._

_Without realising it, from the moment he'd seen her wake up, he'd started imagining their future together. How much closer they could become now that time and physical form were no longer an obstacle. But all that anticipation - all the possibilities - were crumbling into dust with every moment she stared at him without recognition._

_Swallowing sharply, he reached down for her hand - both to remind her of their connection, and to tether him to this new reality - but she pulled away before he could touch her, a scared look crossing her face._

_Oliver flinched in response and stepped back from the bed, his hands raised, hating the thought of scaring her when she was so vulnerable. The guards took advantage of his compliance; they recaptured his arms and pulled him away from the bed towards the two police officers who had just stepped off the elevator..._

"What the hell is going on?" The baffled concern in Digg's voice drew Oliver back to the present, where the noise of several cell phones beeping at once merged with the mutters and exclamations of the people around them. 

Suddenly, a heavily disguised voice rang out from all of those cell phones simultaneously. _"If you make the Glades your home, you know who this man is. John Nickel.”_

All thoughts of Felicity fled as Oliver realised they'd found the man they were searching for. With a wordless glance at Digg, he rushed to stand behind the waitress who was staring at her phone with her hand covering her mouth. The two men watched over her shoulder as the live broadcast continued - the battered and gagged face of a terrified Nickel front and centre on the small screen as the disembodied voice laid out his crimes. 

_"I knew there was bad stuff in my buildings," Nickel admitted in response, his voice rising in panic. "Okay? Yes, I made a little profit. At least they had a place to live. Without me, people like that would end up on the street."_

_"People like that," sneered the kidnapper. His hand briefly came into view as it covered Nickel's mouth with duct tape. "That's all we are to guys like this."_

The camera panned back to show Nickel bound to metal poles. _"John. I find you…guilty."_

Two gunshots rang out, causing the people in the restaurant to gasp in shock. 

Nickel was dead. In a graphic and brutal public execution. The similarities to his own style of vigilantism weren't lost on Oliver; but the spectacle of this was a step too far. More worryingly, the kidnapper was acting from a place of anger and vengeance, the passion in his voice betraying his fragile emotional state. People like that made mistakes.

And innocent people usually ended up paying for them. 

***

The next evening, Oliver closed the heavy door of Queen Mansion and trudged up the stairs to his room. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and surrender to unconsciousness. But the kidnapper - or 'The Saviour' according to the information Digg had gathered from his NSA contact - had vowed to continue his killing spree. He'd already taken out the District Attorney earlier that day for failing to press charges against the men who'd killed The Saviour's wife. 

Oliver had stood by, powerless, unable to do anything but watch as the murder was once again transmitted to the Glades. Without someone with Felicity's skills to help him track down the origin of the broadcast, he was helpless. 

And he hated it. 

At least this latest killing had given them a clue as to The Saviour's identity. Digg was currently searching news archives for murders that fit the wife's details, giving Oliver just enough time to run to to mansion for a quick shower and change of clothes.

After scrubbing himself clean of the past 36 hours, he quickly pulled on a fresh Henley and pair of jeans, then made his way back downstairs.

Where his mother was waiting. 

"Oliver, I need to talk to you."

"Can it wait?" he asked, barrelling past her on the way to the front door. "I need to get to the club."

"I suppose it could wait," she replied serenely. "But I thought you would like to know that the charges against you have been dropped."

That stopped him. 

After he'd been pulled away from Felicity in the hospital corridor, he'd spent the next few hours in the police precinct, arrested on charges of attempted kidnapping. Still numb from the shock of losing Felicity - not once, but twice - he hadn't said a word as he was marched in cuffs passed a gloating Detective Lance ("Still trying to ruin young girls lives, Queen?") and a stunned McKenna Hall. He hadn't said a word during questioning, and he hadn't said a word when his mother and her team of lawyers had arrived to post bail.

He knew the trial was looming, but it was an abstract complication, one he was ignoring in favour of continuing his mission for as long as possible.

And it was a complication his mother had apparently removed completely. "What do you mean 'dropped'?" he asked in suspicion. "Did you throw money at the problem, in typical Queen fashion?"

"No money was involved. I simply went to talk to the poor girl-"

"You went to see Felicity?" Oliver barked. 

"Yes," Moira admitted, seemingly unaware of the anger roiling within her son. "I explained about your time on the island, and that you hadn't fully recovered from that...ordeal. That it was affecting your judgement."

"In other words, you made me sound crazy."

"Not crazy," she said firmly. "Just...struggling. And she was very sympathetic - very kind. And honestly, Oliver, what was I supposed to say? You won't explain to me - to _anyone_ \- what happened that day."

Oliver looked away. _How could he possibly explain?_ The truth was so far-fetched, admitting it would do nothing to alleviate his mother's concerns about his mental health. Instead, he'd spent the past fortnight brushing off her and Thea's questions about the event. It was part of the reason he was avoiding the mansion - they were relentless in trying to determine his relationship with Felicity, and why he’d risked everything to save her. 

Moira came closer and took his hand, the metal of her wedding ring a cold point of contact as she squeezed his fingers. "And was it really a lie, Oliver?” she asked softly. “I know you've been having trouble…adjusting…since you came back to Starling. I know it’s the reason you moved out of here in the first place. Looking back, Thea and I could have been more…understanding of what you were going through.”

Oliver closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. No matter their differences, and his suspicions about her involvement with the notebook, she was still his mother. And her acknowledgement of the tension between them was a small weight lifted from him. Felicity had subtly encouraged him - several times - to open up to his loved ones about what he was feeling and experiencing. And whilst he’d made some leeway with Thea, there was still so much distance within their little family. 

Oliver realised that, for the first time in weeks, the thought of Felicity wasn’t accompanied by pain and regret. Instead, there was just…love. And gratitude. For what she’d brought to his life, for the way she’d opened his heart. If they had in fact been destined to meet and be together - even if only for a short time - then he needed to savour that connection. Honour the growth their bond had inspired in him. 

Be the type of man she could be proud of.

“Thank you, Mom,” he said eventually, squeezing her hand in return. “That means a lot to me. And I’m sorry if I’ve been distant these last couple of weeks - since coming home, really. I know I’m not the son you were expecting to return-”

“You’re the son I _love_ ,” she interjected fiercely. “That’s all that matters to me.”

He smiled and blinked away the tears that had formed at her words. He gave one last squeeze of her hand, then released his grip and headed towards the door. 

But an impulse made him turn back. “How was she?” he asked hesitantly.

“Who?”

“Felicity.” It was the first time he’d spoken her name aloud since the hospital. The familiar, lilting syllables hung in the air while he waited for his mother’s response. 

“Who is this girl to you, Oliver?”

He shook his head. “I can’t answer that. Just…please. Tell me how she looked.” It was suddenly vitally important that he hear the answer. The shock and anger he felt at his mother’s meddling had faded into a burning need to hear something - _anything_ \- about the woman he loved. Several times he’d had the urge to creep along the rooftops opposite her apartment to catch a glimpse of her…but he’d always resisted, the word ‘stalker’ whispered in her teasing voice preventing him from taking that action. 

“She looked good. Healthy,” she eventually replied. “And she seemed happy.”

Oliver nodded in gratitude. And relief. He’d been worried that discovering Felicity was doing fine without him would lead to feelings of bitter resentment. But instead he was glad.

He wanted nothing more than her happiness.

****

As Oliver entered Verdant, weaving between the empty tables to get to the back rooms, he spotted Tommy stock-checking the bar. Things were still awkward between them; ever since Tommy had discovered his secret identity, he avoided all unnecessary contact with Oliver, beyond a perfunctory greeting whenever they passed each other.

“Hey,” Oliver mumbled as he headed for the store room entrance for the lair. 

“Hey,” Tommy responded. But in a departure from their normal script, he continued, “Do you have a second?” 

“Sure,” Oliver replied cautiously.

“I, uh, heard about that thing at the hospital,” Tommy began.

“Kind of hard not to,” Oliver replied lightly. It had, predictably, been all over the news.

“Was that something…Hood-related?”

“Um, no. That was personal.”

Tommy hesitated, as if he wanted to ask for more details. But eventually he settled on a more benign question, “You’ve seemed pretty down since that happened. You okay?”

“Not really,” Oliver admitted. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Oliver said. But seeing the offer for the olive branch that it was, he added, “But thanks for asking. I appreciate it.” 

Tommy sighed in response. “Look, I know that I’ve been a jerk lately. I just couldn't understand how you could keep such a huge secret from me. But I’ve had some time to think, and I guess I never considered the toll it must take on you.”

Oliver nodded in agreement. “Lying to the people that are closest to me…it's the hardest part. And I don’t just mean about the Hood, but about Felicity as well.”

“You were seeing her?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, leaving out the more supernatural details. “But I was wrong to think that I could have it both ways - that I can do what I do, and still have a normal life. With anyone.” The last statement was said under his breath, a fear he hadn’t spoken aloud until now, but one he’d been battling with for the past couple of weeks. With Felicity, there had been real honesty between them; she knew what he did at night. She knew about the blood on his hands, and she cared about him regardless.

It just didn’t seem possible that he could find that acceptance with anyone else. 

Tommy frowned and shook his head. “Except if you're alone you're never gonna be happy.”

Before he could respond to that, Oliver’s attention was captured by the breaking news bulletin on the widescreen TV over the bar.

_“…the kidnapper appears to have another victim.”_

“Tommy, can you turn that up?” Oliver asked, gesturing to the screen. As the sound increased, the footage changed from the news anchor to that of a scared young man in a hoodie, tied up in the same location as the other victims. 

_“Meet Roy Harper. Arrests, larceny, robbery, aggravated assault. Yet you're out on the streets. Another gang-banger in the Glades running free like the ones who killed my wife.”_

Tommy pointed to the screen. “I know that kid,” he said in a stunned voice.

Before Oliver could ask how, a distraught Thea came running into the club. “Ollie?” she cried racing over to her brother,“I didn't know where else to go.” As she caught sight of the image on the TV, she skidded to a stop. “Oh, God, no,” she sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand. 

“Thea?” Oliver said, grasping her shoulders. “You know him?”

She nodded, her eyes still locked on the screen. “Roy. He's my friend. We were in a fight and some guy just attacked us. Ollie, he doesn't deserve to die!”

Oliver crouched down to meet her eyes. “I promise you,” he vowed, his voice firm and steady, “He’s gonna be okay. You stay here with Tommy, all right?” He raised himself back up and met Tommy’s eyes over Thea’s head. They exchanged a solemn look, then Oliver took off towards the lair. 

He clattered down the metal steps, calling out to Diggle who was situated at the computer station watching the latest broadcast. “Please tell me you know who this guy is.”

Diggle spun around to face him. “A woman was killed in a bodega robbery one year ago this month. Name was Emma Falk, and her husband was Joseph Falk.”

“Sounds like our guy. How do we find him?”

“I may have something. I’ve been going through the two other videos and there’s this sound in the background. I can’t isolate it to hear it properly, but I’m pretty sure I recognise it.” Diggle pressed a button and a rhythmic thumping noise filled the Foundry. Digg nodded along with the recording, his eyes screwed shut in concentration as he tried to place the sound. 

“What is it?” Oliver said impatiently, conscious of the ticking clock and the look of devastation on Thea’s face. He’d do anything to spare her the pain of losing someone she cared about…

“It’s the subway!” Digg finally answered.

“Starling City doesn’t have a subway.”

“They used to. My dad used to take me to the Rockets game by subway. I'd lean against the window feeling the rhythm of the train. And it makes sense - Joseph Falk used to work for the Department of Transportation.”

***

Oliver rappelled down to the abandoned train tracks, the sparks from the exploded access grate above him flickering in the dusty air.

As he paused on the ground to get his bearings, he heard the rumbling sound of a distant train and felt the transmitted vibrations under his feet, assuring him he was in the right place. 

He flattened himself against the side of the dank, mold-slicked tunnel and held his breath as the approaching lights of the train illuminated the darkness. The train barrelled past him at speed but Oliver managed to grab the railing of the last carriage as it whipped by. He swung himself aboard and scrambled up onto the roof of the train to start his crawl towards the front. 

When he got to the right carriage, he waited for the moment the train passed through a station, giving him the space, and just enough time, to swing out and down to crash through the carriage window. He landed in a crouch, his boots crunching on the shattered glass, and immediately took in the kid - _Roy_ \- tied up to his right, and the man with the gun right in front of him. 

Taking advantage of the darkness and the other man’s confusion, he threw a flechette in Roy’s direction - severing the bond tying his arm to the pole - then rose to his full height and nocked an arrow in one quick movement. 

“Let the kid go,” Oliver shouted at Falk, his voice raised to be heard over the racket of the train rushing through the tunnel. “If you kill him, he'll never get an opportunity to change. You can give him a second chance.”

Falk shook his head, the gun pointing at Oliver wavering with the force of the movement. “Emma never got a second chance! You and I are the only ones who can save this city. We can't stop now!”

“We're not the same!” Oliver yelled in return. This was never what his vendetta was about. He wanted to punish the men who built the corrupt system destroying Starling, not execute the people who suffered as a result. 

But Falk didn’t see the distinction. “You’ve killed people for this city. So have I. What's the difference between you and me?” 

As the man ranted, Oliver glanced over at Roy and subtly motioned for him to untie himself. 

“You have no idea how lonely it is!” Falk cried. His head moved, the start of a turn to check on Roy - who was currently ripping himself free of the tape holding him in place. 

“Joseph!” Oliver called, trying to divert his attention away from the kid. “Joseph,” he repeated, less sharply. “I understand being alone. Believe me, I know how it can make you think there’s no hope left in the world. But it doesn't give you the right to kill people in cold blood.”

“He deserves it! Just like the gang-bangers who gunned her down. And now I get to gun _him_ down.” With that, he turned to aim at Roy. 

“Don't do it!” Oliver yelled, but it was too late. Joseph fired twice, the bullets luckily going wide - his aim off due to the rocking motion of the train. In response, Oliver fired an arrow into Joseph’s back. 

Right through his heart. 

***

Oliver stood on the mezzanine level of the club, the darkness obscuring his vantage point cut only by the strobe lights flashing across the dance floor below. He looked down onto the partying crowd to see a limping Roy cross the floor to Thea, who wrapped him in a crushing hug. 

They held each other for several moments, before separating and laughing in relief at the others’ presence. 

Oliver turned away from the sight and made his way down to the lair, where Digg was cleaning his gun. 

“Thea's friend is upstairs,” Digg commented, gesturing to the live feed of the club playing out on one of the computer monitors. 

“I saw.” And he was happy for her. Whilst the older brother in him wished she had chosen someone a little less…dangerous…he could see the positive effect her relationship with Roy was having on her. She seemed more mature and grounded. 

“What's that?” Oliver’s musings over his sister’s love life took a back seat as he noticed the map displayed on one of the other computer screens. It looked strangely familiar…

“I pulled that up earlier,” Diggle answered. “It's an old map of the decommissioned subway line. Runs underneath the low-rent district of the city.”

“I've seen that map before…” Oliver murmured almost to himself as he stared at the crosshatched lines. Then it hit him. “It was right in front of our faces the entire time.” He grabbed the notebook from the table and opened it to the front page. The lines of the symbol carved into the book matched the subway map exactly. “My father, the other archer, the Undertaking. Whatever the plan is, it's all connected to the Glades.”

Diggle grabbed the book, his eyes flicking between the map on screen and the markings. “Damn,” he whispered. “Now if only we knew what the Undertaking was…”

“A problem for tomorrow,” Oliver replied. “I’m gonna take off for tonight.”

Digg tossed the book aside and turned his attention back on Oliver. “Wait, man, I heard what you said to Falk on that train…”

“And?”

“Is that how you really feel? That you're alone? That there’s no hope in the world?”

Oliver sighed and pushed his hands into his pockets. The words he’d said to Falk had been instinctual - an attempt to reason with an unreasonable man, through shared experience and pain. And for a long time, a sense of desolation and isolation had been constant in Oliver’s world. 

But that wasn’t true anymore. 

“You were right last night,” Oliver admitted. “I have been falling back on old habits - convincing myself I was better off withdrawing from everything, and everyone. But I know I’m not alone in this. Felicity…she helped me see that. And you did as well, Digg. Thank you.” 

Having people in his life who saw the real Oliver, who knew his true identity - Felicity, Digg, even Tommy - it had shown him that he didn’t need to do this alone. That he could let people in. That he could enjoy his life - maybe even be happy - and still fulfil his father’s mission. In his grief at losing Felicity, Oliver had lost sight of that. 

The alternative was becoming someone like Joseph Falk - so isolated by his pain and trauma that he turned on others. That wasn’t a future he wanted for himself; and it wasn't a future Felicity would want for him either. 

Digg nodded, then cocked his head to the side. “Why don’t you go see her, man. I know you miss her.”

“I do.” He huffed out a laugh. “I keep thinking that it’s ironic - the one person I want to talk to about everything that’s happened…doesn’t remember me.”

“So go remind her,” Digg suggested with a smile. 

Oliver shook his head. “She’s happy. My mom went to see her, and she told me she’s doing really well.”

“Your _mom_ went to see her?” 

“Yeah. She convinced her to drop the charges against me.”

“So you’re a free man.”

“I am. And now my ‘mystery accomplice’ can rest easy that I won’t roll over on him to spare myself some jail time.”

Digg laughed. “Well, as your ‘mystery accomplice’, I’m glad to hear it.” Digg had managed to evade capture by the hospital security guards and had escaped with his disguise intact. And despite repeated questioning as to his identity, Oliver never let slip that his ‘bodyguard’ had helped him try to steal Felicity’s body. “But don’t change the subject, man. Why won’t you go see Felicity?”

Oliver sighed and scrubbed his face, then dragged his hands back to grip his neck. “Don’t you think I want to? Every time I get on my bike, or I step outside - hell, every moment I breathe - I have to stop myself from running to her. But she has a second chance at life now. She deserves it. And I don’t want to screw that up for her.”

“Why would you screw it up?”

“Because of who I am. Because of the life that I lead-”

“That’s bullshit, Oliver," Digg interrupted. "I think you’re scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yes, scared. The relationship you had with her before was perfect for you. She knew about your secret, but couldn't tell anyone else. She couldn't get hurt, or die. It was safe, and convenient, unlike a real, fragile, messy relationship.”

“Hey,” Oliver shouted, stepping closer to Digg, “You have no idea what you're talking about. What we had _was_ real.”

Digg looked unperturbed by the angry vigilante in front of him. “So why won’t you go after it again?”

“Because I don’t know how!” he yelled. “The last time she saw me, the look in her eyes was just…God, she was scared of me! And now, after my mom filled her head with how crazy I am…how am I supposed to convince her to _trust_ me, let alone be with me?”

“I don’t know man,” Digg replied softly. Then he pointed at the computer screen. “But you better figure it out quickly.”

Oliver followed his gaze to the live video feed of the alley behind club - the same alley that housed the back entrance to the lair. 

Where a familiar blond was standing, looking at her surroundings in confusion.

“Felicity,” Oliver breathed. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely comments on the previous chapter - I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to reply to each one separately but I had very little free time this week and wanted to use it to finish the story. This chapter ties everything up and there'll just be a short epilogue to follow (I'm a die-hard romance novel fan - I've got to write an epilogue!).  
> I hope you enjoy this, and I hope it lives up to expectations - this was both the hardest, and most fun, part to write!

Loitering in the dark, deserted alleyway behind a nightclub in the most crime-ridden part of the city, Felicity had only one thought. Well, two thoughts, really. The first was that the smell of stale beer from the discarded kegs lining the wall was making her nauseous. And the second was that she could very well be cutting her second chance at life short, only two weeks after emerging from her coma. 

_Because, seriously. Deserted alleyway. At night. In the Glades._

It was a one-way ticket to a mugging, at the very least. 

But as Felicity and her friends had walked passed the alleyway to get to the entrance to Verdant, she'd paused, as something in the grimy shadows of the small side street had called to her. Against the protests of her friends, she'd followed the impulse to wander down the alley, away from the relative safety of the busy road. And despite the fear and misgivings she now felt, there was a stronger, more overwhelming sense of...rightness...about her presence here. 

As if this was where she was meant to be. 

It was completely crazy.

But she fully acknowledged that crazy was an integral part of her new existence. 

For instance, it had been crazy that her first coherent thought after gaining consciousness from an _actual cardiac arrest,_ was that the man gazing down at her was really cute. In her defence, he had lovely blue eyes, and the gentle smile he’d bestowed on her had revealed adorable dimples in his chiselled jaw. 

Then he’d whispered her name, the syllables laden with such intimate familiarity and care. As if he knew her - really _knew_ her. As if she was important to him. The devastation in his eyes when she admitted that she didn’t recognise him, broke something inside her. And the hurt she saw cross his face when she flinched away from his touch, made her want to comfort him and beg his forgiveness.

But she'd been overwhelmed by the shock of her situation. Her last memory before waking on that trolley had been driving home from work. Then, suddenly she was in a bed, looking up at her mother and a handsome stranger, in a brightly lit hospital corridor, with a pounding head and an aching chest. She hadn’t had the strength to sit up, let alone protest, when the security guards had pulled the stranger away. 

Later that day, she’d discovered that he was Oliver Queen - _the_ Oliver Queen. Infamous billionaire playboy and Starling City’s own incorrigible troublemaker. Which just made his presence at her bedside all the more surreal. And when her mom had reluctantly explained how Felicity came to be alive - and Oliver's involvement in that - the surreal had transcended into the fantastic.

He'd tried to steal her body!

He'd actually tried to kidnap her, and remove her from hospital. To what aim, she didn't know. Her mom was fairly skimpy on the details.

And that just made Felicity all the more curious. 

Especially because she couldn't stop thinking about him. And not in a _'why is that psycho still on the streets, I hope he stays away from me'_ type of way. More in a...wistful way. She'd catch glimpses of him at odd moments, like snapshots superimposed on her surroundings. Last week she'd reached for a bottle of red wine and was hit with an image of him smiling as he stirred a pot on her kitchen stove; cleaning her room, she'd looked at the photo on her nightstand and, instead of Cooper, it was Oliver she'd pictured. Hearing a news report about some thief called 'The Dodger' she'd seen Oliver crouching before her on the sofa, his eyes full of apology...

Each instance had been fleeting, but so rich in detail, they were almost like memories. 

Which was impossible. 

Right? 

As if summoned by her thoughts, the man in question came into view at the opening of the alleyway, his eyes fixed on her with an intensity she could feel despite the distance between them. 

Her heart started racing and her hands began to shake - but she couldn't place the feeling building up in her. _Was it fear? Nerves? Anticipation?_ Her emotions were too jumbled to categorise. As he approached, she took a deep breath and tucked her hands in her coat pocket, hoping he wouldn't see the evidence of her disquiet.

To her relief, he didn’t seem any more composed. His footsteps were tentative and his eyes nervous. As he stepped through the dim beam of light streaming from a nearby window, she noticed the fingers of his left hand rolling over each other in some kind of tick. 

Eventually he came to a stop a few feet from her. He licked his lips, then stuttered out a greeting. “H-hi.”

“Hi,” she whispered in response, her eyes flicking over him. He was wearing dress pants and a crisp white shirt, rolled at the sleeves to reveal taut, tanned forearms, the picture of an off-duty businessman. It was a very good look on him. His hair was slightly rumpled, as if he'd been running his fingers through the strands, and there was the faintest bruise on the side of his jaw. But as handsome as he undeniably was, he also looked...tired. Exhausted. As if the the world was pressing down on him...

She jolted as she realised she’d been gawking at him for countless moments, but he seemed just as content to stare at her; she could almost feel the weight of his gaze as it swept over her.

“Um…” she trailed off, at a loss for what to say, but eager to move this strange little meeting forward. 

“Yeah, I…” he responded, in an equally verbose manner.

She let out a breathy laugh and started again. “I was in the neighbourhood, and thought I’d drop by.”

He cocked his head to the side and gave her a small confused grin. She winced as she realised her explanation sounded like some cheesy pick-up line. “I really was,” she rushed to clarify. “I was at a bar around the corner with some friends from work-”

“You were out with friends?” he interrupted, his grin widening to a happy smile. “That’s great!”

It was her turn to look at him in confusion. He seemed so…pleased. As if he somehow knew what a monumental step it was for her to have an active social life again. 

Her priorities had shifted in the wake of her accident. That was probably true for a lot of people who'd had near-death experiences; but, unlike most people, Felicity hadn't needed to consciously take stock of her life, or reflect on her prior poor decisions. Instead, the recognition that she wanted more from her life than a small, isolated, meaningless existence had been present from almost the moment she’d regained awareness. The bordering-on-desperate need to change her circumstances and find her sense of purpose had been a burning imperative that had fuelled her ‘miraculously’ quick recovery.

That, and her need to be out of that hospital bed. The knowledge that she'd spent months lying motionless and unaware in that bed freaked her out. People - _strangers_ \- had poked her and prodded her and bathed her and dressed her, all without her consent or comprehension...it was creepy as hell. 

She’d only been able to endure a few days in hospital, regaining her strength and submitting to a barrage of tests from the baffled medical staff, before discharging herself and returning home to her little apartment to finish her recuperation. 

Her mom had moved in with her at first, staying until just a few days ago to help her adjust back into the land of the living, and Donna had been a source of immense support during that time. In fact, she’d gained a new appreciation for her mother’s strength and resilience - traits that resonated with Felicity’s own tenacious core - and that first hint of common ground between them had helped mend a bridge in their relationship.

The next step of her ‘life overhaul’, was her career. She'd called up her boss to enquire about the Applied Sciences promotion, and Mr Eckleton had been only too happy to write a reference for her application. She'd also made the conscious effort to get to know her co-workers; she’d invited a few of them out for lunch one day last week and, once they'd gotten over their initial confusion and suspicion, the four of them had ended up having a great time. That had led to pizza night, a trip to the movies, and tonight's bar-hopping and clubbing expedition - although she did have an ulterior motive for that...

There were still gaps she needed to fill - pieces she needed to put together to mould her life into how she wanted it to be, but Felicity 2.0 was slowly integrating herself back into the world. 

But how could Oliver possibly know that?

“Yeah,” she continued, still staring at him with slight suspicion. “My friends went into the club, but I…I felt drawn here.” She gestured to the dank, smelly surroundings and winced at how ridiculous that sounded. “It’s like a weird feeling of _déjà_ _vu_ hit me when I saw this alley,” she explained. 

Oliver stepped closer, the look on his face suddenly intense and serious. “What else have you remembered?”

“Remembered? I’ve never been here.”

He rocked back on his heels. “Of-of course,” he murmured, looking strangely disappointed. “Have you had any other episodes of… _déjà_ _vu_ , lately?”

She had, actually. Just a few days ago, she’d swung by Chinatown to pick up some dry-cleaning and had stopped dead in her tracks outside the store, her attention riveted on the Chinese restaurant across the street. She'd never noticed the place before - let alone eaten there - but she could almost picture the interior, and taste the fragrant, steamy air wafting from the kitchen... 

And at the weekend she'd walked passed the bar down the block from her apartment - the one with the pretty fairy lights she'd always admired from a distance. In the spirit of embracing her new life, she'd followed the impulse to have lunch on their outdoor terrace. Sipping her wine, her eye had been drawn to the table beneath the large oak tree, and she could have sworn she heard the deep laughter of two men and the sound of glasses clinking together in a toast...

For some reason she was hesitant to admit all of that out loud to Oliver. But the fact that he seemed so intent on her answer proved that her instinct to confront him was sound. “I lied,” she blurted out instead. 

“What?” he asked, stunned.

“I lied. About why I’m here,” she said in a rush. “I mean I didn’t really lie. But I didn’t tell you the whole truth either. I _did_ feel drawn to this alley, and I _was_ at a bar with friends, but I was drinking for dutch courage more than anything else.”

“Courage? For what?”

“To come here. To see you.” She took a deep breath, “To get some answers.”

****

Once, during a childhood camping trip, Oliver had whiled away a lazy day trying to coax a sagebrush lizard to settle in his hand. Every time Oliver had made too big or too sudden a movement, the skittish reptile had jumped and scurried behind a nearby rock to hide. It had taken hours to coax it closer, until he’d eventually been rewarded by the scampering of dry feet over his palm.

Confronting Felicity in this dark alleyway felt strangely similar to that long ago encounter. 

He was acutely conscious that one wrong movement, or word from him, could send her fleeing. After all, she had every right to fear him…and not one reason to trust him. But after weeks of not seeing her, he was desperate to absorb as much of her presence as possible.

She was wrapped in a thick coat to ward off the chill of the Fall air, but underneath he caught glimpses of a sexy red dress - such a contrast to the office attire he was used to seeing. Her hair was down, the long golden strands curling over her shoulders, and she wasn't wearing her glasses, allowing him unobstructed access to her deep blue eyes. She seemed to almost glow in the diffused neon haze of the illuminated signs for Verdant. Like an ephemeral mirage. 

A hallucination. 

A fantasy come to life. _His_ fantasy.

He wanted to stare at her for hours. To catalogue the other differences from the spirit form he was so used to - the substance to her skin, the tone of her voice, the vitality shining from her eyes….

She was altered, but she was still his Felicity. 

And she was still looking at him with no recognition whatsoever.

Running through the club to reach her, he’d allowed himself a foolish moment of hope. Hope that her presence here signalled the return of her memories. All of his fears about approaching her, all of his concerns about how bad a choice he was, how dangerous his life was...they all evaporated the moment he saw her image on that security camera. 

If she remembered him, nothing would stop them from being together...

But he'd realised the truth the moment he'd seen her eyes. There was no fear this time, but there was uncertainty, and a polite distance, in the way she looked at him - which meant he was still a stranger to her. 

Although she had admitted to a vague _déjà_ _vu_ -like remembrance of her surroundings…. 

This was the very spot, in front of the Foundry's secret entrance, where she'd confronted him after his showdown with his mother. It had been a pivotal moment in their relationship - the moment she'd discovered the truth about him. 

And here she was, again searching for the truth. 

“How much do you already know?” he asked. 

“About you, you mean?” When he nodded his head, she continued. “I know that you subletted my apartment. I know that you visited my mom at her hotel, claiming you could communicate with me. I know that you tried to steal my body from the hospital the day they were going to turn off the ventilator. And I know that your mother thinks that all of that happened because of some post-traumatic stress…thing.”

Oliver pressed his lips together and looked away; recited in such a dispassionate way, his behaviour did seem crazy. 

“But I don’t know why I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her whispered words had his head snapping back to meet her eyes. “I don’t know why it feels like there’s something missing in my life, some…sense of meaning, or…”

“Purpose,” he supplied, in a voice barely audible.

“Yes!” she replied. “Ever since I woke up, it’s felt like there’s something important I’m supposed to be doing, but I don’t know what it is!” She took a step closer to him, and he had to fight the urge to meet her halfway. “You know that feeling you get when you’ve forgotten to do something, or you missed some crucial meeting? That sinking pit in your stomach? Well, I have that _all the time_ , and I don’t know why. It’s a complete mystery - and I _hate_ mysteries. They bug me.”

Her annoyed pout after finishing that last sentence brought a small smile to his face. A smile which soon faded when he realised the significance of his next step. He could give her the answers she sought - lay everything out on the line.

But it was a gamble. 

She could balk at the truth. Run screaming from him. Look at him with fear and disgust, call the police…

There was so much that could go wrong. And there was so much at stake - his freedom, his mission, _her_.

But their relationship had been built on a foundation of honesty. It’s part of why he cherished their connection - she’d always seen the real him, and had accepted him without judgement. 

He had to give her the benefit of the doubt. That the Felicity who believed in him was still there somewhere deep inside… because if they were ever to have a real future together - and that was a big, scary, wonderful _if_ \- they needed to start from a place of truth.

He had to tell her everything.

Taking a deep fortifying breath, he walked over to the inconspicuous entranceway behind the overflowing dumpster. He entered the 4-digit code on the security pad, then pulled open the heavy metal door leading down to the lair. 

“The answer to that mystery, the thing you’re looking for…it’s down here,” Oliver said as he gestured to the stairs leading down to the Foundry. 

A hint of fear entered her eyes and she glanced behind her towards the entrance of the alleyway, as if looking for an escape. 

"You can trust me, Felicity," he said, trying to reassure her. "I promise you, I won't hurt you."

She bit her lip, eyeing the open doorway, and he spotted the moment her fear changed to courage. She nodded, "Okay. But you go first."

"Fair enough," he responded, making his way down the stairs. He purposely kept his eyes forward - partly so he wouldn't scare her again by constantly checking on her progress, and partly to check the Foundry floor for Digg. Seeing no sign of the other man, Oliver assumed he'd made himself scarce when the door opened. 

As he heard the clank of high-heeled shoes hitting the metal stairs, Oliver sighed in relief. 

_She'd followed him._

He turned to watch the rest of her descent, shoulders hunched with his hands in his pockets, trying to look as non-threatening as possible in a room filled with deadly projectiles.

In stark contrast to her previous ‘first time’ in the Foundry, this Felicity was quiet as she took in her surroundings. “What is all this?” she finally whispered. 

“This…this is my base of operations,” he answered. Then he paused and took a deep breath before breaching the point of no return, “I’m the Starling City Vigilante. The Hood.”

Her brow furrowed and she took half a step backwards. “I heard about him-” she shook her head- “you. You’re wanted for murder.” 

“I am,” he admitted, forcing himself to maintain eye contact when he wanted to drop his head in shame. “And I’ve done things I’m not proud of. But I’ve also tried to help people.” He shuffled towards the computer and brought up the files for the Count, the Dodger and Barrera, the assassin hired to kill Malcolm Merlyn. He stepped back, then gestured for her to read them, “Look.”

She hesitantly edged closer to scan the contents on the screen. “You did all of this? You stopped them?”

“Yes. With your help.”

Her head whipped around to him in shock. “My help? How is that possible?”

“I can’t explain the ‘how’, but when you were in your coma, your…spirit…was still around. And I was able to see you - and talk to you. You helped with these cases. And you helped _me_ \- you inspired me. To do better. To _be_ better.”

Oliver took some comfort in the fact that, even though she was shaking her head in disbelief, Felicity wasn’t running for the exits. So he continued, “That sense of purpose you’re searching for? You found it here, doing this.” _With me._ Those two extra words were on the tip of his tongue but he held them back - it was enough of a task to convince her of her secret vigilante life, without complicating things with their…relationship, no matter how much he wanted to plead with her to remember him.

And what they meant to each other.

“Oliver…” she started, and he had to close his eyes at the sound of his name on her lips for the first time in weeks, “That sounds…”

“Crazy,” he finished for her. “Believe me, I know. But it’s the truth. You deserve the truth. And you deserve to know that you made a difference in this city. I know how important that was to you.”

She didn’t respond, just held his gaze for several moments, her eyes searching his. Then she broke the contact and wandered away from the computer station, deep in thought - he recognised the tell-tale crease between her brows. She approached the weapons display and bit her lip as she eyed his bow and the rack of arrows next to it. She ran a finger lightly over the tips of the newly sharpened arrowheads. “How do you know I won’t go to the police with all this?” she asked, nodding at the incriminating evidence in front of her.

He shrugged and shook his head. “I trust you, Felicity.”

She jolted slightly at his words, causing her finger to slip and the arrow beneath to prick her skin. “Ouch,” she cried, cradling the injured digit to her chest. 

Oliver rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” he asked. He gently grasped her hand to inspect the wound, but the instant they touched - the first touch between them since she'd woken up - an electric shock arced over his skin. He clutched her hand tighter on instinct, as Felicity gasped and closed her eyes.

*** 

The memories bombarded her the moment their skin touched; the disjointed reel of images beginning first as mere snippets….

_‘You need to leave,” she told him, in a stern voice with her hands on her hips. “I don’t know who you are, or why you’re always here, but you need to go. Or else! You have no idea know who you’re messing with, mister!”_

…fleeting glimpses that were out of context moments with little meaning or impact, as if they had happened to someone else…

_“Wh-What!” she sputtered, shaking her head. “That’s crazy! I’d have to be dead to be a ghost, and I am not dead! I think I would know if I was dead!”_

…but then the emotions attached to the memories rushed through her, so exquisitely _real_ and overwhelming, convincing her that this had all actually happened! That somehow she’d lived another life while motionless in that hospital room. 

A life with Oliver. 

With every awakened recollection, a new layer of her connection to him was revealed. From a tentative start…

_“Why do I feel I can trust you? This is a pretty bizarro situation and we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot. Yet I still feel like I can trust you. Why is that?”_

…to companionship…

_He set a place at the table opposite him, then gestured to the unoccupied chair, “Felicity, would you like to have dinner with me?”_

…to teasing friendship…

_“Because, seriously, anyone with boobs can get a Frat Boy to do anything,” she finished. Unfortunately, Oliver had just taken a sip of Coke and her words, combined with the sexy smirk on her lips, caused him to inhale the liquid. Felicity burst out laughing as Carly hurried over to the table. “Are you okay?” she asked in concern, as Oliver attempted to get his coughing under control._

…to attraction…

_True to his word, he emerged soon after in a perfectly tailored designer suit with a matching black tie. As he adjusted his cuffs and selected his shoes, she took the opportunity to devour him with her eyes. It was the first time she’d seen him in anything but jeans, leather or sweats, and the effect was mesmerising._

…compassion and care…

_“Oliver,” she whispered, as they came to a stop outside her apartment building. She turned to face him, her heart breaking for how lost he sounded. “You are. You are worthy. And you deserve to be with someone. You deserve so much more than this…isolated life you’re living.”_

…unwanted jealousy…

_"So that was Laurel," Felicity said from her perch on the bed. "Gorgeous Laurel," she murmured under her breath._

…inspiration…

_“I took my lead from you,” she responded. And it was the truth. She’d seen the physical and emotional toll his five years away had wrought. A lesser man would have crumbled under that torture. Would have given up, or become cold and indifferent. But beneath his shell of brutal pragmatism, Oliver was still kind. He still cared. And that compassion wasn’t a weakness; it was a testament to the strength of the man in front of her. A man who had endured so much, but still retained his humanity._

…desire…

_“I wish I could touch you,” he whispered._

_“Me too,” she admitted, her voice just as hushed. “When you held my hand in the hospital, I felt it. My spirit felt it. I don’t know how to explain it, but I think if you could ever really touch me, I might wake up from all of this.”_

…and love…

_That two lost souls should find each other, beyond all logic, and against the known laws of nature...there was definitely a poetic, destined feel to it. And while there was no way to know for sure if their meeting was planned, or just some random act of cosmic serendipity, it didn't matter to her. Either way, they had found their way to each other._

_And they'd found themselves in each other._

…a passionate, powerful, life-altering, soul-deep, once-in-a-life-time, love…

_“Help! Someone help, she isn’t breathing!”_

_Doctors and nurses swarmed towards the body on the hospital bed, just as a horrible sound rang out - the long piercing beep of a flatline._

_Felicity flinched at the noise, tearing her focus away from the gurney to meet Oliver’s panic-stricken eyes._

_“No!” he shouted._

_He was fading from view - no,_ she _was fading! Whatever substance she had was dissolving, and she could feel herself sinking into darkness. Terrified, she stretched out her arm towards Oliver, desperate for something to tether her to this world._

_To her life. To him._

_“Oliver,” she called, but no words emerged, the fabric separating their two existences thickening, forming a barrier between them._

_She watched, straining to see him as he launched himself towards her body. He cradled the still, pale face in his hands and she could feel the barest tingling across her cheeks at the contact._

_As she faded further into the sucking, endless darkness, Oliver leaned over and touched his mouth to hers, trying to breathe for her. At the press of their lips - their first kiss - Felicity cried out. Sensation unlike anything she’d ever felt rushed through her. She felt his kiss down to her soul, and the power and purity of it wrenched her back from the aether trying to claim her. She felt herself flying towards the bed, sinking into her body and merging with her corporeal self._

_She was whole again._

_The shock of the reconnection and the unfamiliar weight of organs and muscles after months of living in spirit form, stalled her heart and lungs. It took her several agonising, terrifying moments locked within an unresponsive body before she remembered how to inhale. But as she finally gasped her first breath, a thick blackness - darkness of a different kind - swallowed her mind, and with it, her memories…._

Felicity slowly opened her eyes, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the Foundry. The torrent of unearthed memories had lasted mere seconds, but she felt fundamentally altered by the experience. 

Restored. 

Whole, and finally, completely, thoroughly alive. 

“Felicity?” The concerned voice brought her attention back to the man standing in front of her - the one still clutching her hand. 

Oliver. 

He looked altered too. Or perhaps it was just her perspective that was altered. Whereas a few minutes ago he was an intimidatingly handsome man - strange and exotic to her fearful eyes - now his face was as familiar as her own. 

And the way he was looking at her…so intent and focused, as if she was the only thing that mattered in his world, brought to mind that moment in a hospital store room… 

_“Because…I love her.”_

_Felicity gasped and spun around to face Oliver. His eyes were already on her, and he looked calm and at peace with the revelation. He shrugged and shook his head in a single movement, as if helpless in the face of his feelings. “I love you,” he repeated, his voice soft, but sure._

Recalling that wonderful declaration, she realised those had been his last words to her, before the chaos of the failed kidnapping attempt had ripped them apart. At the time, she’d been too stunned to reply, and the interruption by a staff member had forestalled any attempts to sort out her feelings. 

But there was nothing to stop her now. And she knew exactly how she felt. Taking a deep breath, and unable to stop the beaming smile spreading across her face, Felicity finally returned those three words. “I love you too, Oliver.” 

He jerked in response, looking so shocked and baffled she couldn’t help but laugh. “You…you remember?” he asked, the hope in his voice so cautious, as if he was scared to believe it was true.

She nodded quickly, and opened her mouth to explain, but he cut her off; tugging her towards him by their clasped hands, he kissed her. 

Despite the surety with which he pulled her into him, the movement of his mouth over hers was tentative, the kiss holding a question that she didn’t hesitate to answer. She twisted the fingers of her free hand in his shirt and drew him closer still, moaning softly. In response, he grew bolder, sweeping his tongue into her mouth and tangling his hand in the strands of her hair. Following the urge to press herself against his gorgeous, wonderfully muscled chest she pulled her hand free of his and wrapped both arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes to keep their lips locked together. 

He ran his hands down her back, and she could practically feel the heat from his large palms searing her skin through two layers of clothes. Bending slightly, he stroked over her behind before planting a hand on the back of each thigh. As he straightened, he lifted her into the air, and her legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. The manoeuvre put her slightly higher than him, and she took advantage of the position; angling her head, she took control of the kiss and raked her nails through his short hair.

So engrossed in the kiss, she only noticed he’d placed her on the medical table behind them when the freezing cold steel pressed against her bare legs. She jumped at the sensation and he laughed softly into her mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbled, as his lips grazed across her flushed cheeks to reach the sensitive spot behind her ear. 

“No, you’re not,” she breathed, distracted by the movement of his tongue against her skin, and the feel of his chiselled abdomen against her wandering hands. 

Lifting his head away from her neck - _and who said he could do that, anyway!_ \- he glanced down between them to her bare thighs. With her legs stretched wide to wrap around his hips, her skirt had scrunched up to her waist, exposing the soft pale skin. He slowly ran his finger from her knee, up her inner thigh, to the edge of the red material. They both watched, their breathing equally ragged, as goosebumps broke out along the trail. “No, I’m not,” he replied, meeting her eyes and giving her a wink. 

The sight of that sexy little movement - combined with the general hotness of their make-out session - _because, seriously, this kiss was the best sexual experience of her life!_ \- short-circuited Felicity’s brain. She yanked on his shirt to bring his mouth back to hers, at the same time as she tightened the grip of her legs. The movement pressed his hardness against her, and they both groaned at the sensation. The kiss turned feral in its intensity, any and all finesse gone in a haze of lust. Teeth clinked together and the press of lips bordered on painful, but Felicity didn't care. And judging by the fierceness with which Oliver held her against him, he didn’t seem to mind either. 

Desperate for more - _more touch, more sensation, more skin_ \- Felicity gathered the material at the back of Oliver’s shirt and started freeing it from his pants. In response he slipped his hands beneath the open edges of her coat and pushed it down her arms. She tugged her arms free before latching onto his newly exposed skin, the muscles of his back flexing beneath her fingers in delightful ways as he brought both hands up to cradle her face and continue their kiss. 

“Ahem.”

The fake throat-clearing from behind Oliver made Felicity jump away. But instead of whirling on the interrupting stranger, Oliver chased her lips and pulled her now-swollen bottom lip between his in a final kiss. It was brief and tame in comparison to their previous kisses, but achingly sweet and tender, causing her to sigh as she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. 

The love and need in his lust-darkened eyes made her sway slightly on her perch and involuntarily press her core against his. He bit his lip in response, then released a shaky breath before addressing the man behind him.

“Sorry, Digg.”

It was Digg! She’d finally get to meet Digg! Although, making out with his partner-in-crime in the depths of a nightclub with her dress racked up her thighs, wasn’t the first impression she would have wished for. 

“No, I’m sorry man,” Digg replied, sounding as embarrassed and discomforted as Felicity was starting to feel. “I wanted to give you two some privacy but…”

“But what?” Oliver asked, turning to face the other man, his tone sharp and serious now - all hints of the soft, husky voice from a few moments ago gone in the face of possible danger. 

In an act of gentlemanly consideration she wanted to kiss him for, Oliver kept his body in front of hers, blocking Digg’s view of her dishevelled state and allowing her to hop to the floor and tug down the hem of her skirt with some semblance of dignity.

When she finally stepped out from behind Oliver, Digg’s eyes warmed as they met hers. “Hi, I’m John Diggle.”

She gave him a small smile and leaned against Oliver’s side. “I know who you are, Digg,” she admitted, as Oliver’s arm came around her shoulder to tug her closer. “It’s nice to finally meet you. In person-“ she clarified- “I mean, we sort of met before, but only I was aware of it. So I guess that doesn’t count for you. Although, you did see me in that hospital bed, but then I wasn’t aware, so that doesn't count for me-”

Oliver cut off her nervous babble by pulling her in for a quick kiss, his lips parted and thinned by his wide smile. She broke the contact and ducked her head in embarrassment as Digg chuckled. “I take it this means you remember everything?” he asked. 

Both her and Oliver nodded. “I’m really happy for you guys,” Digg responded.

“Thank you,” they both replied, turning to grin at each other.

“And I hate to break up this little reunion, but we may have a problem,” Digg said, turning his attention to Oliver. “I was upstairs monitoring the police radio and there’s been a possible sighting of the Huntress.”

Oliver stood up straight. “Helena’s back in town?” he barked, his grin fading into a scowl.

Digg shrugged. “Could be. Or it could be a false alarm. But I thought you’d want to check it out.”

“I do,” Oliver said, striding over to the case holding his leathers. As he grabbed the hood, he glanced over at Felicity. “Do you mind? I know that we only just-”

“Go, Oliver,” she interjected. “This is who you are - I know that. Remember?” She tried to copy his wink from earlier, but must have failed miserably judging from the laugh he tried to suppress. 

Rolling her eyes, she walked over to the computer station, planted herself in the chair, and cracked her knuckles over the keyboard. “Where was the alleged sighting, Digg?” she called out as her fingers started flying. “I’ll hack into any security or traffic cameras in the area and see if I can find her. If you give me a few minutes I might be able to commandeer the SCPD facial-recognition software and start running scans in a four-block radius around the area.”

At the silence in the room, she swivelled in the chair to face the two men. They were both looking at her with equal parts bemusement and surprise. “Does that mean you’re in?” Oliver asked with a smile. 

“You mean in, as in I’m going to join your…crusade?”

He nodded, and Digg added, “Well from what I hear, you're practically an honorary member of the team already.”

“She is,” Oliver replied, “A vital one.”

Flustered, Felicity reached up to adjust her glasses…which weren’t on her head. _That would need to change_ , she thought to herself. If she was planning on spending long hours in front of this computer she’d need her glasses - and something to pull her hair back and out of her face. She’d also need to upgrade this whole computer set up. It was like something from the ’80s - and not the good part of the ’80s, like Madonna, and leg warmers…

Her head buzzing with ideas for improvements, she smiled at the two men - her teammates - and nodded. “Yes. I’m in.”


	15. Epilogue

_3 weeks later_

"Do you like Italian?" Oliver asked as he grasped her arm firmly. His tone was light and casual - and completely at odds with their current circumstances. 

"Huh?" Felicity grunted. Not the most eloquent response. But seeing as she was being pulled through the access panel of an elevator, she figured she could be forgiven for her less than verbose conversation skills. 

They were in the middle of what Oliver called 'The Merlyn Job' - a title complete with capital letters and ominous intonation - that involved sneaking into a Fortune 500 company via false identities, drugs, and a flying trip across a restricted elevator shaft.

All because Malcolm Merlyn, CEO of said company, was the mastermind behind the 'Undertaking' - the plot to level the Glades. Team Hood (as Felicity referred to them - though never to Oliver’s face) had discovered the plan was to activate a device to create a manmade earthquake, thereby levelling part of the city. The problem was, they didn't know where the device was, and all of Felicity's attempts to hack the company's servers remotely had failed.

Which meant she had to attack the mainframe in person. 

Which meant she and Oliver were currently standing _on top_ of an elevator shaft. 

Dozens of stories off the ground.

With no harnesses, or safety nets. 

Only steel and concrete below to break their fall...

Felicity swallowed and closed her eyes to ward off the panic-inducing vertigo that was threatening to render her immobile. 

"Italian. For our date." Oliver's voice cut through the haze of light-headed fear, pulling her back to her surroundings. "You like Italian, right?" he continued, as he removed the grappling gun from his briefcase. "Everyone likes Italian." 

"Oliver, we're in the middle of a dangerous operation here," she snapped, trying to get him to concentrate on the job at hand - the job of not falling to their deaths!

"I'm multitasking," he replied, grinning at her. 

Despite her annoyance, and her nerves, she couldn't help but appreciate his smile - it was a sight she hadn't seen in a while. The looming threat of disaster hanging over the city was also a pressing weight on Oliver, threatening to steal the small amount of joy he'd found in their relationship. 

True to his deeply ingrained hero complex, Oliver had taken it upon himself to bear the burden of saving the city. Every set back was a crushing blow; every delay was a millstone around his neck. He was so focussed, so single-minded in his desperate need to stop the Undertaking - a threat he felt responsible for, through his parents' involvement in the conspiracy. For the past week, he’d been hitting the streets all hours of the night, searching for informants, hunting for some hint or clue as to what Malcolm’s plan was, and how to stop it. And every spare moment was spent working out and training - pushing his body to the limits in an effort to hone his skills and become battle-ready. 

Felicity was worried about him. 

But she couldn't ask him to stop. Not least because she wanted to save the city almost as much as he did. But also because...this was the man she fell in love with. 

The hero. The fighter. 

The man who would risk his life for others. 

So she just supported him as best she could; she encouraged him to eat when it was clear he was skipping meals. She iced his bruises and tended to his injuries. She used her cyber skills to help his cause. And every night, just before he flipped that hood up and over his head, she caught his face in her hands and kissed him. 

Not a kiss goodbye - _never_ that. 

But to wish him luck; to remind him that he was loved. 

To assure him that she would be waiting when the night was through, and that he had something good to come home to. 

Well, not _home_ , home. _They_ didn't have a home - much to her disappointment - because Oliver was still living at the Mansion.

She'd assumed once they were together, they would _be_ together. That they would go back to their previous living arrangement in her apartment, or maybe get a place together. 

But Oliver was exhibiting a chivalrous streak that was as infuriating as it was endearing. 

"We did everything backwards," he'd said, the night of their reunion, after the Huntress sighting had turned out to be a false alarm. She'd greeted him with a smile upon his return, and her heart had sped up in anticipation of resuming their make-out session. They'd spent weeks together with only words to express their feelings, the denial of touch allowing them to bond on a deeper level. 

But now that barrier had disappeared. 

They were allowed to touch. And she wanted to. Very much. For a long time, and in multiple different ways. And judging by how quickly a simple kiss between them had escalated, she figured he was feeling as much need as she was. 

But he’d turned down her offer to come back to her apartment, to pick up where they left off - away from sharp objects, hard surfaces, and embarrassed Diggles. "I think we should take things slowly," he'd explained, taking her hand in his. "This is it for me, Felicity. _You're_ it. So I want us to savour every part of this, and do it right."

His words, and the sincerity shining from his eyes, had melted her heart. So when he’d suggested they date first, before sleeping together - before living together - she’d agreed. 

But that had been weeks ago. 

And they hadn't been on a single date. 

To be fair, their lives had suddenly turned hectic. The day after that discussion, Vertigo had started flooding the streets. And no sooner had Oliver dispatched with the latest iteration of the Count, they'd gotten a lead on Deadshot. Then Oliver had found and rescued Walter, his kidnapped stepfather. 

It had been one fire after another, and they'd yet to take a break between putting them out.

And she'd loved every moment of it. 

She didn’t know if that made her a bad person, considering all the crime and dead people, but she was thriving being part of their little group. She was getting to know Digg better, and she and Oliver had formed a solid team-within-a-team. She’d even been able to go undercover again - in human form this time. It had been nerve-wracking but she’d known with absolute certainty that Oliver would keep her safe. And he had. He’d burst through the doors of the casino’s office like a leather-clad avenging angel.

So while she was frustrated by the lack of forward movement in their relationship, she wasn't blaming Oliver - she wouldn’t change their life for all the world. And, besides, they were intimate on a different level, one just as important to her. Oliver shared himself with her - his thoughts, his feelings, his fears. About his family. About not being strong enough to defeat the Dark Archer. About his experiences on the island. 

And he'd brought her into his life, introducing her to Tommy and Laurel, and his family - as scary as that had been. After Walter's rescue, Oliver had insisted she accompany him to the hospital; she’d hesitantly followed him into the private room, which was filled with flowers and cards, a thin, weary-looking man on the bed and the two intimidating Queen women, who'd inspected her with matching expressions of curiosity and suspicion. 

"This is my girlfriend, Felicity," Oliver had said confidently, shocking all the occupants of the room - Felicity included. She'd figured he would ease into that particular revelation, especially given that during her last interaction with Moira Queen, Felicity had denied all knowledge of her son. But Oliver had just ignored their stunned expressions, taken her hand and led her over to chat with Walter. 

She had no doubt he was subjected to the third degree later that night. Felicity had received her own grilling when she'd told her mother that the crazy man who'd tried to steal her body was now her significant other. In her case, the fact that Oliver was young, handsome and stinking-rich, placated her somewhat superficial mother and eased her concerns. 

Moira Queen was a different prospect completely.

But Oliver had merely shrugged when she'd asked him what happened. "She's confused - I can’t really blame her for that - but she can see how happy I am with you in my life," he'd said. "So that makes her happy." He'd ended the conversation by kissing her forehead, a lingering press of his lips against her skin. 

That was another reason she was secure in their relationship - he touched her constantly. 

If she passed him in the Foundry, she'd feel the barest graze of his fingers against her exposed skin. If she was sitting in front of the computer, he'd bend down to kiss the top of her head as she talked. He'd hold her hand at any and all opportunities, and play with her hair. And kiss her. Boy, did he kiss her. Soft, quick ‘hello’ kisses, lingering ‘goodnight’ kisses, hard, desperate ‘I’m glad you’re safe’ kisses, and everything in between… 

So, yes, there was intimacy between them.

She just wanted more... 

"So what do you say? We could try that new place over by the museum." His voice interrupted her musings, bringing her back to the mission at hand. He had the grappling gun out and ready to fire and was standing on the beam overlooking a hundred foot drop. He offered her his hand with a smile, but she just frowned at him in annoyance. 

He expected her to step out onto a ledge with no support, risking life and limb, all while he was smiling and chatting about their damn non-existent, probably-never-going-to-happen-until-they-were-old-and-grey date! 

_Why wasn't he taking this seriously?_

And that's when she realised. 

Of course he took this seriously - he knew the risks, knew what they were up against. His inane babbling about Italian dinners and dates was just a ploy. A way to distract her and take her mind off the danger of their present situation and her fear of heights.

It was just one example out of hundreds of his care and thoughtfulness. 

Her irritation melted away. She took his offered hand and stepped up next to him on the beam. 

“Don't look down,” he advised, steadying her as she gained her balance, his strong hand against her back a comforting pressure.

“Too late,” she replied, her voice catching. She swallowed harshly as she tore her gaze away from the dark pit of nothing below them. 

Oliver bent down under her arm, which she raised and draped over his shoulder instinctively. Her other hand clutched her tablet in a death grip. 

"Felicity, hold onto me tight," he murmured, aiming the gun at the support structures on the other side of the elevator shaft. 

She looked up at him, taking in his profile as he studied his target. His face was serious now, the bruise on his cheek standing out against his pale skin. Eager to continue the distracting banter (which had worked a treat, she had to admit), she replied to his request with a teasing innuendo, “I imagined you saying that under different circumstances. Very…non-platonic circumstances.” 

He dropped his arm to his side, his aim forgotten, as he turned to face her. His eyes were still serious but there was the faintest flush on his cheeks. "Yeah?" he asked, his voice husky and soft. "Tell me more about these circumstances."

She bit back a smile. "Well...you’re there," she started.

"Uh huh," he coaxed

"And I'm there...," she drawled, the hand on his shoulder moving to stroke the sensitive skin behind his ear. "...And that big concrete post in the Foundry is there…" Her voice trailed off, a picture of the two of them flashing through her mind. Her back was braced against the post, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pressed against her, her arms tight around his shoulders, their mouths locked together in a passionate kiss...

"Hmmm," he responded with a smile, his eyes hooded. "Sounds like a date."

She scoffed at that, and straightened up. “ _That_ is not a date - that is a …rendezvous,” she said in mock seriousness. “For our first date, I expect dinner - Italian, in fact.” Her voice softened, “Because yes, Oliver, I love Italian.”

He gifted her with a brilliant smile. “Good. I can’t wait,” he declared, before taking aim again and firing the line across the gap in front of them. 

He couldn’t wait. 

But she could, she realised. 

After all, this was the man whose kiss had brought her to life.

Whose touch had made her whole.

This man was her destiny.

She’d wait for him forever, if she had to. 

Felicity tightened her hold on his shoulder just before Oliver launched them across the abyss.

And she smiled as they flew together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!!  
> This has been so much fun to write, especially with all the lovely comments and feedback I've had on here, tumblr and twitter. You guys are all awesome. Thank you for reading!


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